9dwathcf0^ 

Jl  Stotycf youth 
cMy  Arthur  Vuckerman 


tm/tmrnvm 


GIFT   OF 

M.   G.    Luck 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/breathoflifestorOOtuckrich 


BREATH  OF  LIFE 

A  STORY  OF  YOUTH 


BY 

ARTHUR  TUCKERMAN 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK   AND   LONDON 

Ubc  icntcf^erbocftcr  press 
1922 


(T.fT         OP       'Vv.^  Lwcl< 


Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


y^ 


To  P.  T, 


jvi4i886 


.  *I<rxi>$  Kal  ivfWfxplri  ve6Ti]Tos  fijpaoi  Si  <TW(pf>wnjyT}  AyBos 

.     .     .     The  pride  of  youth  is  in  strength  and 
beauty,  the  pride  of  old  age  in  discretion. 

Democritus,    Ethica. 


Book  I 


Breath  of  Life 

CHAPTER  I       .  . 


The  hands  of  the  illuminated  dial  upon  Grand 
Central  indicated  the  hour  of  seven.  A  taxi  driver 
sheered  off  skilfully  from  the  drifting  pandemo- 
nium of  Forty-Second  Street,  and  sought  the  com- 
parative calm  of  Vanderbilt  Avenue;  his  alert  eyes 
picked  out,  presently,  a  prospective  customer — a 
young  man,  standing  irresolutely  upon  the  curb 
opposite  the  plate-glass  exit  doors  of  the  station, 
two  battered  and  bulging  suitcases  at  his  feet.  His 
large,  loosely-knit  frame  was  enveloped  in  a  shape- 
less overcoat  of  raccoon  fur;  his  hat,  of  soft 
brown  felt,  was  worn,  with  its  crown  carefully 
flattened,  well  forward  over  his  brow.  The  oblique 
rays  of  a  nearby  arclight  fell  upon  him,  revealing 
ruddy,  pleasantly-rounded  features.  He  stood 
motionless,  hands  thrust  deep  in  the  pockets  of  his 
coat,  regarding  the  hurrying  crowds  with  lazy, 
half-humorous  eyes,  the  humor  in  them  somewhat 
tempered  by  a  certain  truculence  of  the  lower  lip; 

3 


4  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

his  expression  was,  one  would  say,  that  of  a  privi- 
leged being,  tolerantly  and  good-naturedly  contemp- 
tuous of  the  surrounding  throng. 

A  stout  little  drummer,  staggering  under  the  bur- 
den of  two  glazy  sample  cases,  hailed  the  taxi 
frantically;  but  the  driver — who  was  a  snob  at 
heart — ignored  him,  and  drew  up  before  the  young 
man  who  bore  so  unmistakably  the  collegiate  stamp. 


U 


Everett  had  not  as  yet  seen  the  new  house  to 
which  the  Gails  had  moved  about  the  first  of 
December.  Indeed,  entirely  forgetful  of  the  hurried 
note  his  mother  had  sent  to  New  Haven  concerning 
the  family's  change  of  residence,  he  directed  the 
taxi  driver  to  the  old  house  in  lower  Park  Avenue, 
scarcely  six  blocks  from  the  station.  There  .the 
barred  and  closely  shuttered  windows,  and  the  'Tor 
Sale"  sign  which  confronted  him  in  the  dim  light 
of  the  corner  street  lamp  acted  as  an  abrupt  re- 
minder of  her  letter.  He  recalled  the  new  address 
in  the  "eighties,"  told  it  to  the  driver,  and  settled 
back  in  the  cab  with  a  vague  but  pleasurable  sense 
of  anticipation;  the  new  house  was  an  innovation — 
and  to  Everett  Gail  innovation  was  the  spice  of  life. 
From  his  pocket  he  drew  an  oblong  case  of  chased 
gold  and  extracted  a  cheap  and  peculiarly  pungent 
cigarette. 

It  was  a  Saturday  night.     Up  and  down  Fifth 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  5 

Avenue  parallel  streams  of  living,  throbbing  light 
were  moving  and  halting  in  mechanical  obedience 
to  the  traffic  signals,  spheres  of  light  whose  rich, 
pellucid  colors  reminded  him  obscurely  of  glasses 
filled  with  liqueur — the  amber  of  Benedictine,  the 
deep  red  of  Cherry  Brandy,  the  green  richness  of 
Creme  de  Menthe.     ... 

Beyond  the  Plaza,  white  and  enchanting,  ablaze 
with  parallelograms  of  yellow  light,  the  traffic 
thinned.  A  sudden  sense  of  exultation  filled  him 
during  the  smooth,  noiseless  ride  up  the  wide  gray 
stretch  of  asphalt;  marble  facades  of  houses 
steeped  in  blue  moonlight;  Central  Park,  on  his 
left,  a  fretwork  of  branches  glimmering,  ghostly 
and  motionless,  in  a  thin  covering  of  snow.  New 
York  was,  it  occurred  to  him,  growing  more 
beautiful  every  year — or  was  it  because  he  was  be- 
ginning to  have  an  aesthetic  sense?  .  .  .  He 
chuckled  aloud  at  the  absurdity  of  the  thought. 
Nevertheless,  he  was  impressed;  it  all  seemed  so 
big,  tremendous,  inviting  .  .  .  room  for  the  whole 
world,  he  thought. 

He  was  roused  from  his  reveries  by  the  stopping 
of  the  cab,  soon  after  it  had  turned  abruptly  into 
a  side  street.  He  climbed  out,  deposited  his  suit- 
cases on  the  sidewalk,  and  added  to  the  fare  a  tip 
appropriate  to  his  exultant  mood.  Then,  as  the 
cab  rolled  away,  he  turned  round  to  face  the  house. 

Momentarily  the  size  of  it  staggered  him.  It 
towered,   virgin   white   and   tremendous,    into    the 


6  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

purple  night  sky  where  its  outline  became  lost  in  a 
confused  maze  of  cupolas  and  towers;  it  was,  he 
thought  whimsically,  a  very  new  and  blatant  edition 
of  a  French  chateau — or,  rather,  half  a  chateau, 
since  one  end  of  it  was  abruptly  chopped  off  to  ac- 
cojnmodate  the  gray,  shapeless  bulk  of  an  adjacent 
apartment  house. 

He  picked  up  his  suitcases  and  stumbled  across 
the  sidewalk  to  an  immense  door,  an  ornate,  com- 
plicated affair  of  plate  glass  and  wrought  iron 
embellished  with  a  gilded  design  of  fleurs-de-lys ; 
behind  the  glass  he  could  discern  heavy  curtains  of 
crimson  velours,  tightly  drawn.  He  groped  in- 
effectually for  the  bell  button  and,  after  several 
seconds,  found  it,  an  insignificant  thing  of  mother- 
of-pearl. 

The  door  was  opened^  presently,  by  an  impressive, 
solemn-looking  individual  in  evening  clothes,  a  bald 
dignitary  who  wore  mutton-chop  whiskers  and  had 
tiny  blue  veins  intricately  patterned  upon  his  hectic 
cheeks,  like  so  many  railway  lines  traced  upon  a 
map.  Everett  felt,  suddenly,  that  no  one  had  ever 
before  eyed  him  with  quite  such  patent  suspicion  and 
disapproval. 

"Fm  Everett  Gail,"  he  ventured  nervously,  un- 
der the  cool  scrutiny  of  watery  blue  eyes. 

The  solemn  one  inclined  his  head  gravely,  almost 
imperceptibly. 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gail  were  expecting  you  before 
now/*  he  announced.     'They  are  out  to  dinner  at 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  7 

present.  I  have  been  instructed,  however,  to  show 
you  to  your  room." 

He  proceeded  to  lead  the  way  up  a  curving  stair- 
case of  frigid  marble.  The  walls  of  grayish  stone 
were  hung  at  intervals  with  tapestry  and  ancient 
banners.  By  the  time  they  reached  the  second  floor 
Everett  found  himself  secretly  longing  for  the 
sight  of  carpets — and  wallpaper.  He  had  never 
seen,  he  thought,  so  many  tall  candlesticks  in  his 
life,  candles  which  shed  an  eerie,  flickering  light 
upon  the  groined  ceilings  of  archways  that  led  to 
damp,  cheerless  passages  of  stone.  He  was  irre- 
sistibly reminded  of  certain  phrases  in  a  recent 
historical  lecture  he  had  heard  at  New  Haven;  of 
marble  basilicas,  and  the  austere  beauty  of  shad- 
owed transepts.     ... 

At  the  third  floor  landing  Emily  met  him  and 
deposited  an  effusive  kiss  on  each  cheek.  Dressed 
as  she  was  in  pastel  gray,  with  the  soft  candle  light 
gleaming  on  her  bobbed  russet  hair,  Everett  was 
suddenly  aware  that  his  sister  had  grown  extremely 
pretty. 

She  followed  him  into  his  room,  a  formal 
apartment  of  brocaded  walls  and  spidery,  fragile 
furniture,  and  sat  down  casually  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed. 

*'Well,  Ev\7,"  she  began.    "How  do  you  like  it?*' 

"Like  what?"  He  was  trying  to  find  a  place 
where  he  could  hang  his  coat. 

"The  house— silly." 


8  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

He  glanced  about  the  room  with  a  palpable  effort 
at  appreciation. 

"The  room's  all  right,  I  suppose.  But  the  rest 
of  the  house — it's  about  as  hilarious  as  Grant's 
Tomb." 

"Oh,  Evvy — and  Father's  spent  so  much  on  it!" 

He  frowned,  hands  thrust  deep  in  his  pockets. 

"There's  nothing  very  new  about  it.  The  Days, 
the  Belknaps,  the  Crofts — they  all  live  in  houses  like 
this.  Father  might  at  least  have  been  original  when 
he  had  the  chance.  Now  if  he'd  built  a  Pagoda,  or 
a  Japanese  house  on  sticks " 

"You're  getting  so  clever,  Evvy,"  Emily  said, 
with  a  trace  of  her  familiar  sisterly  sarcasm. 

He  bundled  her  cheerfully  out  of  the  room  after 
that;  then  proceeded  to  dress  for  dinner.  It  oc- 
curred to  him,  in  the  midst  of  brushing  his  hair, 
that  his  father  must  have  made  a  great  deal  of 
money  during  the  past  few  years — exactly  how 
much  he  did  not  hazard  a  guess.  Everett  rarely 
bothered  his  head  about  such  remote  problems. 

Ill 

In  the  dining  room,  which  was  in  the  sombre 
half-light  of  a  dozen  blood  red  candles  of  spiralled 
wax,  he  joined  Emily — and  a  man.  That  they  had 
not  waited  for  him  nettled  him  considerably,  and  he 
took  his  place  at  the  table  frowning.  Uncon- 
sciously, in  the  past  few  months  he  had  surrounded 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  9 

himself  with  a  certain  halo  of  self-esteem,  based 
perhaps  upon  his  own  unexpected  prowess  in  col- 
lege athletics;  and,  somehow,  he  felt  that  his  home- 
coming was  not  in  keeping  with  his  importance — 
indeed,  so  far,  it  had  been  an  extremely  uncere- 
monious welcome,  he  thought.  He  was  introduced 
to  Emily's  companion,  whose  name  was  Hal 
Jones,  and  promptly  took  a  violent  prejudice  to 
him.  The  man  was  insipid-looking,  had  velvet 
lapels  to  his  evening  dress,  and  wore  a  motley  col- 
lection of  trinkets  upon  his  watch  chain.  Pretty 
soon,  Everett  felt  sure,  he  would  begin  to  recount 
the  history  of  these  trophies — if  he  had  not  already 
done  so. 

Dinner  proved  to  be  a  grave  affair.  Two  bur- 
nished candlesticks  framed  Emily's  delicate  beauty 
at  the  head  of  the  table.  He  came  to  the  conclusion, 
for  the  second  time  that  evening,  that  her  charm 
was  undeniable.  He  couldn't  quite  reconcile  him- 
self to  this  fact — Emily  growing  up,  becoming 
attractive  to  men.  .  .  .  There  passed  through  his 
mind  a  momentary  vision  of  her  at  fourteen,  a 
harum-scarum  thing  in  a  rose-colored  gingham 
dress,  all  legs  and  arms,  climbing  a  tree  back  of 
their  old  house  at  Stockbridge;  tearing  at  a  green 
apple  with  predatory  teeth.     .     .     . 

"You've  blossomed  out  considerably  since  I  last 
saw  you,  Emmy,"  he  told  her  earnestly. 

"Yes.  Isn't  she  adorable,"  interposed  the  Jones 
man. 


lo  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Everett  merely  glared  at  him. 

Emily  asked,  nervously: 

"How's  New  Haven,  Evvy?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

*'0.  K. — but  I'm  giving  up  school.  Forgot  I 
hadn't  told  you;  I'm  going  into  business  after  the 
holidays.  It's  really  the  only  thing  to  do,  these 
days.  There's  no  use  wasting  another  year  on  a 
bunch  of  subjects  I  could  never  pass — Spanish  and 
French  were  the  only  things  I  had  the  ghost  of  a 
chance  at.  I'm  starting  in  with  Piggy  Trehearn 
on  January  first." 

Emily  gasped. 

"Good  gracious!     Have  you  told  Father  yet?" 

"He  won't  care,"  Everett  answered,  without 
conviction  but  to  satisfy  himself — and  also  because 
there  was  a  stranger  present. 

"Have  you  seen  'Afghan'?"  interposed  Jones 
suddenly,  apropos  of  nothing;  and  leaned  ingra- 
tiatingly toward  Emily.  "Pretty  rough,  some  of 
it — but  darn  clever.  There's  an  Egyptian  dancer 
in  the  second  act " 

Everett,  who  had  seen  the  play,  said  loudly  that 
it  was  rotten,  and  saw  triumphantly  that  he  had 
reduced  Jones  to  silence.  After  that  no  one  spoke 
for  a  while,  until  Jones  looked  at  his  watch  and  at- 
tempted the  time-worn  and  fatuous  remark  about 
the  "twenty  minutes  after  the  hour  silence."  Brix- 
ton brought  in  toast  with  the  whitebait,  crisp  dry 
toast,  and  it  seemed  to  Everett  that  he  was  making 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  U 

a  fiendish  noise  as  he  crunched  it;  his  ears  began 
to  tingle.     .     .     . 

After  dinner  he  managed  to  draw  Emily  aside 
for  a  moment  when  Jones  had  strolled  out  into  the 
hall. 

"Where  did  you  rake  up  that  snake?"  he  asked. 

She  gave  him  what  she  used  to  call  her  "most 
freezing  look." 

"Everett,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  You're 
so  crude — I  think  he's  very  nice,  personally.  He's 
dancing  in  the  League  play  with  me." 

"Oh,  is  he?  Well,  I'll  bet  he  makes  a  hit  if  he 
goes  as  a  girl." 

She  drew  away  from  him,  sharply. 

"I  think  you'd  better  go  right  to  bed,  and  see 
if  you  can  sleep  yourself  into  a  pleasanter  frame  of 
mind.     Hal  Jones  and  I  are  going  to  a  dance." 

"How  did  he  happen  to  be  dining  alone  with 
you?"     Everett  insisted. 

She  put  a  finger  to  her  lips. 

"Shh! — We  were  going  out  to  dine,  but  we  de- 
cided to  stay  in  when  we  heard  you  arriving; 
Mother  doesn't  know  about  it  of  course;  she's  as 
strict  as  ever — ^please  keep  still." 

He  frowned,  crossed  to  the  sideboard  and  lighted 
one  of  his  father's  large  Havanas;  it  seemed  to 
give  him  a  certain  confidence. 

"So  that's  how  it  is?  Well— I'll  have  to  think 
about  it.  Only  I  don't  Hke  this  fellow;  wish  you'd 
drop  him " 


12  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

"Evvy,"  she  began  sweetly.  "Don't  forget  that 
I  know  how  the  Packard  got  smashed  on  Merrick 
Road  last  summer " 

She  whirled  away,  laughing  triumphantly. 
Speechless  he  found  his  way  to  the  library,  where 
he  slumped  into  a  leather  armchair  and  surrendered 
himself  to  a  state  of  brooding  gloom.  Things  had 
changed  considerably  during  his  absence — changed 
for  the  worse.  Emily  was  completely  beyond  his 
control  now,  he  concluded.  This  homecoming 
wasn't  all  it  was  cracked  up  to  be. 


CHAPTER  II 


From  Michael  Gail  of  Yorkshire  and  his  wife, 
who  stepped  ashore  at  New  York  in  the  year  1780, 
there  sprang  a  line  of  respectable,  law-abiding  citi- 
zens, members  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  staunch 
Whigs — later  on,  equally  staunch  Republicans. 
Not  a  man  of  them  took  an  active  part  in  politics,  or 
came  prominently  before  the  public  eye  in  any 
capacity;  this,  perhaps,  because  of  an  inherent 
dread  of  notoriety.  Years  later,  when  the  fourth 
generation  of  American-born  Gails  realized  that 
their  beloved  city  was  gradually  becoming  the 
political  prey  of  alien  freebooters  they  contented 
themselves,  like  the  majority  of  their  class  and 
kind,  with  occasional  and  feeble  protests  in  the 
correspondence  column  of  a  certain  ultra-respectable 
Republican  newspaper. 

John  Gail,  father  of  Everett,  was,  in  fact,  a  mem- 
ber of  the  minority  elect  of  Manhattan,  clinging 
steadfastly  to  the  illusion  that  his  element  still 
formed  the  representative  citizenship  of  the  metrop- 
olis.   Actually,  he  wielded  less  influence,  politically 

13 


14  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

and  otherwise,  than  one  Pete  Halloran,  who  ran  the 
garage  wherein  he  kept  his  limousine  three  blocks 
away,  a  man  who  could  perform  miracles  by  a  whis- 
pered word  to  a  certain  Police  Commissioner,  and 
whose  son  did  a  mysterious  and  intricate  business 
in  stolen  motor  cars  and  raw  whisky.  .  .  .  Were 
John  Gail  to  die  today,  his  obituary  notice  would 
politely  state  that  he  had  been  a  member  of  four 
well-known  clubs;  that  he  had  been  a  lawyer  of 
some  prominence,  and  noted  for  his  work  in 
charitable  causes;  that  he  had  married  Miss  Jessie 
Taylor  of  Baltimore  in  1896,  and  left  two  sons  and 
one  daughter. 

Gail  senior  was  lanky,  lean  and  colorless,  a  quiet, 
unobtrusive  man  who  loved  his  family  with  an 
intense  devotion  which  he  rarely  put  into  words. 
He  was,  quite  naturally,  proud  of  his  younger  son 
Stoddard  who,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  evinced  a 
remarkable  ability  for  architecture,  but  he  secretly 
preferred  the  company  of  Everett.  The  fresh- 
ness, the  kaleidoscopic  changing  of  his  elder  son's 
views  on  every  conceivable  subject  amused  and  in- 
terested him  to  a  degree  which  Stoddard's  sober, 
studious  habits  had  never  done;  and  yet,  at  times, 
he  was  worried  by  Everett's  eternal  restlessness. 

The  family  rarely  saw  John  Gail  between  nine 
in  the  morning  and  six  in  the  evening,  except  on 
Sundays  when  he  invariably  donned  his  silk  hat 
and  cutaway  to  attend  the  service  at  Grace  Church. 
As  in  most  other  matters  he  was  strictly  conven- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  15 

tional  concerning  his  religion,  and  it  was  somewhat 
of  a  shock  to  him  when  he  discovered  Everett  lying 
abed  Sunday  mornings  reading  the  sporting  sec- 
tions of  a  metropolitan  newspaper;  however  he 
made  no  protest,  because  the  whole  of  his  life  was 
based  on  the  principle  of  live  and  let  live.  .  .  . 
Nevertheless,  on  certain  occasions  he  could  be  dis- 
covered sitting  alone  in  his  vast,  oaken  library, 
staring  in  a  pathetic  sort  of  way  at  Everett's  photo- 
graph upon  his  desk,  and  wishing  fervently  that  he 
might  better  understand  this  son  of  his.     .     .    . 

His  wife  was  a  thin,  faded  little  woman  with  an 
incredible  amount  of  latent  energy  which  she  man- 
aged to  divide  in  a  wholly  admirable  way  between 
her  children  and  a  dozen  charity  committees.  She 
was  rarely  known  to  express  views  on  any  subject, 
and  when  she  did  they  were  somewhat  banal;  she 
was  intensely  interested  in  details  that  concerned 
the  running  of  her  house — servants,  food,  the 
bringing  up  of  the  children.  Indeed,  she  was  so 
silently  efficient  in  these  matters  that  the  rest  of 
the  family  took  her  ability  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  never  quite  appreciated  her. 

Emily  grew  up  to  be  a  mental  counterpart  of 
her  mother,  and  they  seemed  to  understand  each 
other  implicitly;  as  a  child  she  was  well-behaved, 
caused  little  or  no  trouble.  Stoddard  was  ever 
silent,  pondering — immersed  in  books  from  the  day 
he  learned  to  read.  That  Stoddard  would  amount 
to  something  was  a  foregone  conclusion.     Everett, 


i6  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

on  the  other  hand,  was  from  his  infancy  prone  to 
act  strangely,  to  indulge  in  periodic  orgies  of 
amusement  during  which  he  would  listen  to  no  one ; 
he  was  always  more  or  less  of  a  source  of  worry 
— or,  at  best,  speculation. 

At  times  he  would  give  utterance  to  startling  views 
which  set  his  parents  to  wondering  where  he  ob- 
tained them.  Upon  his  fifth  birthday  an  uncle 
presented  him  with  a  five  dollar  gold  piece;  young 
Everett  passed  two  sleepless  nights  worrying  as  to 
how  he  could  best  spend  his  wealth,  then  hurled 
it  from  his  nursery  window.  He  sought  his 
mother,  beaming. 

"It  worried  me  so  much,"  he  lisped  gravely, 
"that  I  thro  wed  it  away.  I'd  much  rather  be  poor 
and  not  worry." 

His  father  vowed  angrily  that  the  child  was 
crazy,  but  his  mother,  at  the  time,  entertained 
vague  hopes  of  his  developing  into  a  philosopher. 

Again,  at  the  age  of  ten,  when  the  Gails  were 
at  their  Stockbridge  farm,  he  boarded  a  freight 
locomotive,  hid  himself  amidst  the  coal  in  the 
tender,  and  travelled  to  Stamford.  He  returned 
to  his  home  two  days  later,  tired,  filthy,  but 
triumphant. 

"Now  that  I've  run  away  and  been  on  a  loco- 
motive," he  told  his  weeping  mother,  "I  don't  ever 
have  to  do  it  again-^so  let's  all  be  happy." 

When  he  was  seventeen  he  became  temporarily 
convinced  that  the  salvation  of  the  world  lay  in 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  17 

Socialism,  and  had  a  violent  quarrel  with  his 
father  on  the  subject.  It  made  him  feel  immensely 
grown-up  when  he  discovered  that  he  could  argue 
well  enough  to  make  his  father  angry. 

Thus  he  grew  up;  restless,  eager,  his  mind  ever 
alert  for  something  new. 

11 

In  the  year  nineteen  hundred  and  nineteen  the 
Gails'  position  in  New  York  underwent  a  change. 
A  shrewd  investment  of  John's  in  certain  wartime 
products  brought  him  a  delayed  and  unexpected 
fortune.  A  few  months  later  the  family  moved 
from  their  stolid,  comfortable  old  house  in  the  lower 
Park  Avenue  to  the  chateau  in  the  east  "eighties" ; 
John  Gail,  removed  from  the  worries  of  a  desul- 
tory law  practice,  found  that  his  name  was  spoken 
in  Wall  Street.  Although  both  he  and  his  wife 
were  completely  free  from  social  aspirations — 
simply  because  they  had  from  birth  felt  secure  in 
this  respect — ^they  had  substantial  ambitions  for 
their  offspring.  Emily  presented  no  difficulty 
whatever;  she  was  sent  to  a  fashionable  school 
which  turned  out  girls  like  Fords,  from  which  she 
emerged  triumphant,  dazzling,  pretty — a  perfect, 
but  standardized  product.  She  bobbed  her  hair 
when  her  friends  bobbed  theirs,  took  part  in  the 
contemporary  mania  for  squirrel  coats,  gray  silk 
stockings,  and  suede  shoes.    She  was  sent  to  Europe 


i8  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

for  three  months  with  a  chaperon,  during  which 
she  visited  Versailles  and  the  Tower  of  London, 
and  spent  the  rest  of  her  time  dancing  at  various 
Paris  restaurants  with  American  boys  she  had 
known  at  home.  In  New  York  she  went  to  all 
the  parties  that  were  "worth  going  to,"  and  in- 
variably had  at  least  four  freshmen  at  her  supper 
table. 

That  she  had  been  successfully  launched  in  a 
social  way  became  evident  by  the  fact  that  she 
began  to  use  her  home  merely  as  a  convenient  place 
to  change  her  clothes,  bathe,  and  sleep.  .  .  .  Her 
father  complained  pitifully  that  he  had  almost  for- 
gotten how  she  looked.  In  the  mornings  her 
mother  would  sometimes  tiptoe  to  Emily's  bed- 
room and  ask  her  about  the  men  she  had  met  the 
night  before;  so  far  she  showed  no  signs  of  be- 
coming interested  in  less  than  three  men  at  one 
time,  so  that  Jessie  Gail  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief, 
feeling  that  her  daughter  was,  at  least,  temporarily 
safe. 

As  young  Everett  grew  up  it  became  evident 
that  he  would  present  a  more  intricate  problem 
than  his  sister  and  younger  brother.  Although 
he  had  lived  a  fairly  normal  life  up  to  the  age  of 
twenty-two — with  the  exception  of  a  feverish 
eighteen  months,  during  the  War,  which  he  spent 
in  being  transferred  from  one  naval  radio  school  to 
another  on  the  American  Continent — he  was,  per- 
haps, unconsciously  inclined  to  allow  the  spirit  of 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  19 

the  age  in  which  he  Hved  to  play  too  strongly  upon 
him;  and  yet  in  this  respect  he  was  but  a  counter- 
part of  hundreds  of  his  kind — young,  restless, 
craving  for  new  sensations.  .  .  .  He  knew,  and 
admitted  frankly,  that  in  life  it  was  his  policy  to 
take  the  path  of  least  resistance;  he  had,  too,  the 
wholly  modem  and  youthful  habit  of  taking  noth- 
ing seriously  except  trivialities. 

At  the  proper  age  he  had  expressed  a  distinct 
preference  for  Yale,  and  had  been  duly  sent  there. 
It  was  generally  but  vaguely  understood  in  the 
family  that  he  was  to  become  a  lawyer — for  the 
eminently  suitable  reason  that  his  father  and  grand- 
father had  been  lawyers  before  him.  His  collegiate 
career — split  in  the  middle  by  the  War — ^had  not 
been  particularly  vicious,  or  particularly  virtuous; 
his  work  had  been  what  the  bespectacled  super- 
visors of  it  termed  "creditable" — an  elastic  phrase 
which  seemed,  however,  to  pacify  the  family. 
But  Everett  grew  tired  of  college  life,  as  he  grew 
tired  of  ever^lhing  else — long,  long  before  he  had 
even  opened  the  cover  of  a  Blackstone.  At  the  age 
of  twenty-two  he  became  conscious  of  vast,  unguided 
ambitions  stirring  within  him;  he  was  a  human 
dynamo  of  power  and  enthusiasm,  needing  but  a 
goal  to  which  he  might  apply  his  energy.  He  was 
at  this  age,  nearly  six  feet  in  height,  loosely-built, 
amiably  good-looking,  A  few  flappers  said  that  he 
was  *'divine,"  but  he  only  admitted  that  married 
women  were  really  interesting. 


20  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Several  acquaintances  approached  him  at  New 
Haven,  on  hearing  of  his  intention  to  go  into  busi- 
ness, with  widely-varying  propositions.  The 
mushroom  growth  of  the  Gail  fortune  was  already 
common  knowledge,  although  Everett  himself 
scarcely  realized  it.  He  successfully  evaded  tempt- 
ing offers  which  concerned  oil  wells,  automatic 
telephones  and  bullet-proof  glass,  and  eventually 
succumbed  to  the  glamor  of  real  estate  as  ex- 
pounded by  one  Piggy  Trehearn,  his  roommate, 
a  facile,  glib  talker.  Everett  did  not  know,  of 
course,  that  Piggy,  having  his  own  axes  to  grind, 
was  counting  merely  on  the  inestimable  advantage 
of  having  a  Gail  in  the  offices  of  Trehearn  and 
Company;  it  would  be  well.  Piggy  thought,  to  be 
able  to  say  off-hand  to  new  customers:  "Oh,  by 
the  way  young  Everett  Gail  has  just  joined  us. 
You  know  the  Gails  .  .  ."  All  of  which  he  ex- 
plained in  a  long  letter  to  Trehearn  senior,  who 
approved  whole-heartedly. 

Accordingly,  on  the  second  day  of  the  New 
Year,  he  went  into  the  real  estate  business. 

Ill 

Trehearn  and  Company,  being  a  comparatively 
new  firm,  pursued  an  aggressive  yet  ingratiating 
policy  that  might  have  been  scorned  by  its  well- 
established  and  more  complacent  rivals.  Trehearn 
advertisements,   confined  to  the  more   fashionable 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  21 

publications  of  sport  and  society,  were  artistic,  and 
at  the  same  time  worded  with  a  certain  deUberate 
snobbishness;  Trehearn  letters  to  customers,  ex- 
tremely dignified,  were  typewritten  on  large  sheets 
of  cream-colored  stationery  that  allowed  the  widest 
of  margins.  Customers  were  all  treated  with  the 
greatest  deference,  yet  those  who  had  less  than 
fifteen  thousand  to  squander  on  a  summer  rent 
were  subtly  allowed  to  understand  that  Trehearn's 
was  honoring  them  by  attending  to  their  paltry 
needs.  There  were  magazines  and  newspapers  to 
read  in  the  anteroom  while  one  waited  to  inter- 
view a  partner — one  always  waited,  since  the 
partners  were  inevitably  engaged  in  a  "conference." 
Old  sporting  prints  decorated  the  walls  of  this  room, 
and  it  conveyed  a  general  impression  of  quiet  luxury 
and  good  taste. 

Within  the  offices,  at  the  rear  of  the  building, 
there  was  to  be  found  every  imaginable  labor- 
saving  device  of  modern  business;  dictaphones, 
mimeographs,  noiseless  typewriters,  automatic 
letter  openers  .  .  .  machinery,  smooth  and  glit- 
tering, hummed  all  day  in  a  perpetual,  subdued 
song.  Young  men,  with  well-defined  waist  lines 
and  carnations  in  their  lapels,  glided  silently  from 
desk  to  desk  distributing  memoranda  on  tinted 
papers.  Everett  thought  the  place  had  no  soul, 
until  one  day  during  the  lunch  hour  he  accidently 
discovered  the  junior  partner  kissing  the  telephone 
operator  behind  the  ice  water  cooler. 


22  BjlEATH  OF  LIFE 

It  was  understood  that  Everett  was  to  commence 
work  on  a  commission  basis,  that  he  was  to  get 
fifty  percent  of  the  firm's  commission  on  every 
transaction  for  which  he  was  personally  responsi- 
ble. Old  Trehearn  called  him  aside  and  pointed 
out  the  inestimable  advantage  he  possessed  in  what 
he  chose  to  term  "a  large  social  acquaintance." 

"Never  let  opportunity  slip  by  you,  my  boy," 
he  said,  shaking  a  fat  forefinger  at  Everett.  ** Busi- 
ness first,  last  and  always.  Bash  fulness  won't  get 
you  anywhere;  go  to  it  when  you  see  a  chance." 

Everett  tried  hard  to  go  to  it,  but  found  many 
idle  hours  upon  his  hands ;  he  had  been  in  the  office 
a  week  when  it  suddenly  dawned  upon  him  that 
his  business  was  not  confined  to  office  hours;  that 
dinner  parties,  the  opera,  and  dances  were  all  to  be 
regarded  as  potent  fields  of  opportunity. 

He  started  to  work  with  the  greatest  possible  en- 
thusiasm; took  his  old  Sporting  Mercer  from  the 
garage,  overhauled  it,  and  spent  long  days  trund- 
ling about  Westchester  and  Long  Island  in  order 
to  familiarize  himself  with  the  property  in  which 
Trehearn  was  interested.  Five  weeks  passed; 
his  energy  was  praised,  but  no  financial  recognition 
was  forthcoming. 

Opportunity  came  at  last.  One  Sunday  in  Feb- 
ruary his  mother  had  a  friend  to  luncheon,  a  Mrs. 
Jennings  Clark,  who  spoke  vaguely  of  purchasing 
a  house  somewhere  along  the  Sound.  Before  the 
salad  was  served  Everett  had  elicited  a  promise 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  23 

from  her  to  run  out  to  Greenwich  with  him  on 
Monday  afternoon.  Mrs.  Gail  remained  mute  dur- 
ing the  rest  of  the  luncheon,  overcome  with  mingled 
pride  at  her  son's  business  acumen  and  an  obscure 
feeling  of  mortification  that  the  subject  had  been 
broached  at  her  own  dining  table. 

Mrs.  Clark  kept  her  promise.  Everett  showed 
her  nine  houses  and  eventually  convinced  her  that 
one  of  them  was  exactly  what  she  wanted.  Early 
on  Tuesday  morning  she  appeared  at  Trehearn's 
and  the  deal  was  closed.  For  half  an  hour 
Everett  waited  outside  Treheam  senior's  private 
office,  and  then  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  he 
saw  a  stenographer  emerge  with  the  signed  con- 
tracts. 

Throughout  the  afternoon  he  waited  anxiously 
for  a  summons  from  old  Treheam,  but  no  sum- 
mons came;  the  next  day  he  did  the  same — and  the 
next.  On  Saturday  morning,  as  Trehearn  senior 
was  starting  out  to  lunch  Everett  followed  him  to 
the  office  door. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  said,  "I'd  like  to  know 
about  my  cc«nmission — it's  my  first  transaction, 
you  see." 

Treheam  paused,  hand  upon  the  door  knob, 
gazing  at  him  quizzically. 

"You're  Everett  Gail,  aren't  you?  What  com- 
mission are  you  referring  to?" 

Everett  was  conscious  of  his  heart  thumping 
as  he  answered: 


24  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

**On  the  Bumham  house  in  Greenwich — Mrs. 
Jennings  Clark  bought  it." 

Trehearn  raised  his  eyebrows,  smiling  faintly. 

"Why,  my  dear  fellow,  she's  not  a  new  customer. 
Her  name  has  been  on  our  books  for  months." 

*'But  I  showed  her  the  house,"  Everett  insisted, 
with  a  growing  sense  of  the  helplessness  of  his 
position. 

Trehearn  shrugged  his  shoulders;  his  voice 
took  on  a  shade  of  impatience. 

"Perhaps  you  did — but  I'm  afraid  there^s  been 
a  misunderstanding  on  your  part.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  myself  recommended  the  Bumham  property 
and  showed  it  to  her  last  autumn.  Of  course,  you 
understand  that  we  expect  you  to  discover  cus- 
tomers on  your  own  initiative  for  us — StiU,  under 
the  circumstances,  I'm  not  averse  to  granting  you 
a  commission  of — fifteen  percent,  we'll  say,  for 
your  trouble  in  this  instance " 

The  door  closed  gently  behind  him. 

During  the  following  week  Everett  contrived  to 
steer  two  prospective  customers  to  the  office.  One 
of  these  proved  impossible  to  suit;  in  the  second 
case  it  happened,  unfortunately,  that  the  whole  trans- 
action was  managed  by  the  junior  partner,  since 
Everett  was  tramping  Jersey  clay  on  an  errand 
stipulated  by  the  senior  partner. 

He  hailed  Piggy  Trehearn  outside  the  office  at 
five  o'clock  that  evening. 

"Look  here,  Piggy,"  he  began.     "I've  been  with 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  25 

you  seven  weeks  now ;  it's  all  very  nice  and  pleasant 
to  be  here — but  I  haven't  earned  a  dollar,  except 
fifteen  percent  on  the  Bumham  property  when  I 
expected  fifty." 

Piggy  managed  to  appear  both  pained  and  sur- 
prised; he  rubbed  his  double  chin  thoughtfully. 

*That  is  so,"  he  admitted.  "It's  unfortunate. 
You  just  don't  make  the  grade,  do  you,  Evvy?" 

Everett  laughed  mirthlessly,  controlling  with 
some  difficulty  a  rising  wave  of  anger. 

^'Either  I've  got  to  be  let  in  on  commissions,  or 
be  given  a  salary.    I  can't  go  on  in  this  fashion." 

"You  can't  expect  fat  commissions  as  an  inex- 
perienced beginner,"  Piggy  retorted  with  surprising 
asperity,  " — ^however,  I'll  see  the  Governor  about 
your  case  tomorrow.  Well,  so  long.  Got  to 
leave  now.     Girl  waiting  for  me  at  the  Ritz." 

Everett,  watching  him  as  he  climbed  hurriedly 
into  a  taxi,  found  himself  wondering  how  he  had 
managed  to  room  with  the  fellow  for  five 
months     ... 

The  following  morning  he  was  put  on  the 
office  staff  at  a  salary  of  twenty  dollars  a  week, 
with  the  same  opportunity  of  making  commissions 
as  before.  No  one  in  the  office  was  more  surprised 
than  himself;  in  considering  the  matter  he  came 
to  the  disillusioning  conclusion  that,  in  future, 
friendship  and  business  relations  were  not  to  be 
confounded. 


CHAPTER  III 
I 

Emily  discovered  him  in  his  bedroom  at  eleven 
o'clock  that  night,  curled  up  in  an  armchair  read- 
ing; he  appeared,  she  thought,  somewhat  depressed. 
She  stood  before  him,  radiant  in  a  cerise  dress  of 
chiffon,  silver  stockings  and  silver  slippers,  and 
planted  a  peck  of  a  kiss  upon  his  forehead. 

"Come  on  to  Lottie  Barlow's  party,  and  cheer 
up,"  she  said.  "She's  reminded  me  a  dozen  times 
to  bring  you — and,  for  goodness  sake,  please  stop 
looking  like  a  martyred  saint." 

He  tossed  aside  his  book,  yawned,  and  smiled 
up  at  her. 

"It  looks,"  he  said,  "as  if  I'm  going  to  be  a  failure 
at  business.  I've  earned  exactly  fourteen  dollars 
in  seven  weeks." 

"Nonsense!"  she  cried,  and  then,  her  thoughts 
wandering  off,  characteristically,  at  a  tangent :  "I 
suppose  it  never  occurred  to  you,  Ewy,  that  I've 
got  my  business  to  attend  to,  also.  It  begins  at 
eleven  nightly  and  lasts  until  three  or  four.  This 
is  my  second  season  as  a  shining  light,  and  each 

26 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  2y 

year  the  task  is  going  to  be  a  little  harder — Oh 
yes,  I've  heard  older  girls  talking  about  it;  I've 
heard  them  say  that  trying  to  maintain  a  frenzied 
grip  upon  a  v^aning  popularity  isn't  such  a  joke — ; 
especially  with  the  lifelong  prospect  of  being 
banished  to  dusty  oblivion,  or  hen  bridge  parties^ 
and  an  occasional  charity  ball " 

"Good  Lord!"  — He  was  patently  shocked — 
"When  did  you  become  such  a  little  pessimist?" 

"It  isn't  pessimism,"  she  answered  thoughtfully. 
"It's  just — facing  facts.  Two  years  to  make  your- 
self what  they  call  a  'success' — and  look  at  the 
competition,  Evvy!  Meanwhile  each  season  brings 
a  class  of  shrieking  debutantes  crashing  into  the 
ballroom,  perfectly  confident  that  they're  the  most 
attractive  things  the  world's  ever  seen.  And  ap- 
parently they  convince  the  fickle  stag  line  that  they 
are 

"The  stag  line  doesn't  represent  the  entire  mas- 
culine world,"  he  argued. 

"Perhaps  not,  but  it  thinks  it  does.  And  then 
we've  been  trained  to  regard  it  as  the  most  staple 
source  of  husbands." 

He  roared  good-naturedly,  but  deep  down  within 
him  felt  infinitely  sorry  at  this  revelation  of  an 
unsuspected  cynicism  in  her. 

"The  stags  would  flee  for  their  lives  from  a  party 
if  they  knew  that's  the  way  you  labeled  them,"  he 
told  her,  smiling. 

He  rose,  stretching  himself  languidly. 


28  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

"Oh,  well — ^tell  Lottie  FU  be  along  to  her  party 
about  half  past  eleven." 

He  crossed  the  room  to  his  bureau,  commenced 
a  lazy  search  for  a  clean  white  waistcoat.  Emily 
paused  for  an  instant,  irresolutely,  at  the  door;  then 
disappeared  in  a  whirl  of  chiffon,  leaving  behind 
her  the  faintest  perceptible  scent  of  orchids. 

II 

Lottie  Barlow's  coming-out  dance  was  g^ven  at 
the  Ritz  where  a  nightly  series  of  such  affairs  was 
being  held  during  the  holiday  week.  Everett  was 
careful  not  to  put  in  an  appearance  before  eleven 
forty-five,  previous  experience  having  taught  him 
that,  an  earlier  arrival  spelt  physical  exhaustion 
long  before  the  end  of  the  dance;  he  had  long  been 
convinced  that  on  a  ballroom  floor  the  female  of 
the  species  could  outsurvive  the  male. 

After  checking  his  hat  and  coat  he  stood  for  a 
while,  idly  smoking  a  cigarette,  at  the  foot  of  the 
Y-shaped  stairs  that  ascended  in  wide,  gentle  steps 
to  the  ballroom.  In  the  narrow,  mirrored  hall  de- 
tached groups  of  men  stood  about  him,  some 
keeping  an  anxious  eye  on  the  revolving  entrance 
door.  There  was  a  large  sprinkling  of  freshmen 
present,  distinctly  more  cheerful  and  noisy  than  the 
rest,  casually  dressed  in  dinner  coats  and  awry  ties ; 
a  few  Harvard  seniors,  tall,  carefully  groomed,  de- 
lightfully  sure   of   themselves;   larger   groups    of 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  29 

Princetonians,  and  Elis,  frivolous,  bantering,  flushed 
with  the  evening's  prospects;  one  or  two  swarthy 
foreigners,  standing  aloof,  slightly  over-mannered, 
perhaps,  to  meet  the  approval  of  the  others, 
as  they  clicked  their  heels  and  bowed  ceremoni- 
ously to  incoming  girls.  Also,  several  of  those 
mysterious  men  who  seem  to  attend  every  party 
of  the  season,  and  yet  were  the  cause  of  con- 
stant speculation  as  to  whether  they  had  beerk 
invited  or  not  .  .  .  especially  when  they  slid  out 
from  their  isolation  to  greet  effusively  some 
bobbed-haired  damsel  who  nodded  coolly  in  return. 

Presently  Everett  tossed  his  cigarette  into  a  bowl 
of  palms  and  ascended  the  stairs.  The  rheumatic, 
purple-faced  old  man,  whose  duty  it  had  seemingly 
been  since  time  immemorial  to  announce  the  names 
of  arriving  guests  at  these  functions,  leaned  for- 
ward with  a  wrinkled,  questioning  look.  Everett 
whispered  his  name,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of 
hearing  "Mr.  Hail"  bawled  into  the  hostess'  ear 
above  the  clamor  of  the  music. 

Lottie  Barlow,  tall,  dignified  and  colorless,  was 
standing  beside  her  father  and  mother  at  the  ball- 
room entrance — a  nonentity,  Everett  knew,  and 
highly  popular — with  girls;  the  principal  thing  he 
noticed  about  her  was  the  enormous,  trailing  bouquet 
of  roses  clutched  feverishly  in  her  left  hand.  He 
shook  hands  with  her,  was  propelled  onward  by  an 
unseen  tide  of  humanity  behind  him,  dimly  con- 
scious of  a  bewildered-looking  little  man  with  a  bald 


30  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

'. 

head,  and  a  gray-haired  colossal  woman  with  a  fixed, 

tnechanical  smile  who  kept  reiterating: 

*'So  glad  you  could  come.  .  .  ." 

One  of  the  orchestras — there  were  two  that  night 
— was  playing  "Margie"  from  a  trellised  fence  of 
smilax  as  he  slid  to  the  middle  of  the  ballroom  and 
dived  into  the  swaying  black  and  white  mass  of  the 
stag-line;  it  was  insufferably  hot,  noisy.  ...  A 
long-haired  youth  asked  him  in  enraptured  tones 
the  name  of  the  girl  wearing  the  yellow  dress  "with 
the  green  stuff  on  it,"  and  Everett,  not  knowing  her, 
merely  shrugged  his  shoulders.  A  moment  later  he 
caught  sight  of  Edith  Way  suffering  the  tortures 
of  the  damned  with  an  elderly  Frenchman  who  was 
gyrating  about  the  room  with  great  abandon,  and 
glided  to  her  rescue. 

"Hul-lo  Ewy,"  she  murmured,  as  the  Frenchman 
was  swept  into  oblivion,  "do  you  still  love  me?" 
She  was  totally  unaware  that  this  had,  by  now,  be- 
come her  recognized  form  of  greeting.  He  told 
her  gently  that  it  was  time  she  improved  her  "line." 
Edith,  he  knew,  was  the  girl  who  had  been  known 
to  hint  to  four  different  men  at  a  certain  party  that 
she  had  no  supper  partner;  unfortunately,  after  her 
triumphant  gathering  of  them  round  her  supper  table 
they  had  compared  notes  ... 

This  was  a  season  when  the  toddle  was  in  vogue, 
and  he  went  bobbing  limply  and  casually  about  the 
room,  holding  his  partner  at  an  oblique  angle,  chat- 
ting as  he  went,  she  looking  up  at  him,  laughing 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  31 

demurely,  bobbed  curls  dancing  gaily  about  her 
plump  cheeks. 

Supper,  served  at  pink-shaded  tables  in  the  great 
oval-shaped  dining  room,  subduedly  lighted,  always 
appealed  to  him ;  he  liked  to  sit  quietly  at  the  table, 
smoking  cigarette  after  cigarette,  gazing  thought- 
fully at  the  chattering  throng  about  him.  Edith 
Way  thought  everything  either  "perfectly  divine"  or 
"heavenly,"  and,  although  he  approved  her  attitude 
of  thoroughly  enjoying  life,  he  found  the  conversa- 
tion distinctly  lagging  over  the  coffee.  After  he  had 
seen  her  successfully  launched  in  the  ballroom  he 
strolled  out  to  the  lounge  where  a  row  of  perspiring 
waiters  were  dispensing  unlimited  quantities  of 
orangeade — and  met  Piggy  Trehearn. 

Piggy  greeted  him  affably;  he  was  one  of  those 
fat,  amiable,  self-sufficient  creatures  who  apparently 
manage  to  have  a  good  time  wherever  they  go.  They 
retired  to  a  discreet  corner  behind  some  palms  where 
Piggy  produced  from  his  hip  pocket  an  enormous 
flask. 

"You  look  blue,"  he  remarked,  proffering  it. 
"This  ought  to  cheer  you  up." 

Everett  snorted. 

"Blue?  No — it's  not  that;  I'm  just  plain  bored." 
He  waved  his  hand  in  a  sweeping,  comprehensive 
gesture  toward  the  ballroom.  "What's  all  this  prove, 
anyway?" 

Piggy  surveyed  him  thoughtfully. 

"Trouble  with  you,  Everett,"  he  said,  handing  him 


:^2  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

the  flask,  "is  that  you're  too  damned  analytical.  A 
fellow  doesn't  want  to  get  in  the  habit  of  prodding 
into  the  reason  for  everything.  When  you  stop  to 
think,  most  amusements  are  senseless.  You  ought 
to  come  to  this  party  saying  Tm  out  for  a  good 
time' — and  have  it." 

"How  do  you  have  a  good  time?"  Everett  asked 
dubiously,  emptying  a  third  of  the  flask  at  one  gulp 
and  making  a  wry  face. 

"Give  some  girl  a  huge  rush,"  Piggy  suggested, 
eyeing  the  flask  anxiously.  "This  business  of  danc- 
ing politely  with  every  girl  you've  ever  met — bah! 
it  doesn't  work.  You'd  have  a  more  exciting  time  if 
you  tried  to  dance  with  every  girl  you  hadn't 
met " 

Everett  frowned ;  ignored  the  attempted  f acetious- 
ness. 

"There's  nothing  to  this  *rush*  idea,"  he  said. 
"Believe  me,  I've  tried  it.  The  thing  lasts — possibly 
— six  weeks;  you  have  a  pretty  good  time  as  long 
as  that.  Then  what  happens  ?  You  get  to  a  certain 
stage  where  you've  got  to  go  forward  or  go  back — 
stage  varies  with  girl's  amount  of  sophistication.  If 
you're  serious,  or  fool  yourself  into  thinking  you 
are,  you  go  forward — wedding  bells,  n'e  very  thing 
.  .  .  But — ^here's  the  point;  if  you  go  back  she  either 
becomes  a  human  iceberg,  or  eyes  you  reproach- 
fully for  ever  afterwards — or,  possibly,  if  she's  a 
wise  one,  you  become  what  they  call  'good  friends' 
which  is  an  utterly  impossible  relationship  in  which 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  33. 

you  keep  on  dancing  with  her  for  the  rest  of  your 
life  and  wonder  what  the  devil  to  talk  to  her  about. 
Am  I  right?" 

Piggy  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  agree.  The  trouble  with  you  is,  probably, 
that  with  most  girls  youVe  reached  that  hopeless 
stage  where  you've  got  beyond  her  superficialities 
that  momentarily  interest  you,  and  haven't  reached 
her  real  nature — it's  only  then  that  you  become 
*good  friends'  as  you  call  it." 

"I've  never  discovered  a  woman's  real  nature 
yet,"  Everett  retorted  almost  irritably,  "and  you 
can't  convince  me  that  you  have.  Piggy." 

They  started  back  toward  the  ballroom  together. 

It  was  at  that  precise  moment  that  Everett,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  set  eyes  on  Margaret  Blair. 
She  was  coming  slowly  up  the  stairs  from  the  supper 
room,  followed  by  two  or  three  important-looking 
and  immaculately  dressed  youths  with  sleek  black 
hair  and  pink  cheeks.  Whether  he  had  any  acquaint- 
ances among  the  men  Everett  riever  stopped  to 
think;  his  eyes  were  riveted  in  a  wholly  fascinated 
stare  upon  the  girl ;  the  cigarette  in  his  hand  burned 
down  to  his  fingertips,  until  he  extinguished  it  with 
subdued  profanity.  .  .  .  She  was  tall,  taller  than  the 
average  girl  at  the  dance ;  dressed  in  white  and  silver; 
she  carried,  casually,  an  enormous  emerald-colored 
ostrich  fan.  Her  figure,  he  thought,  was  almost 
childishly  immature,  and  on  account  of  her  height 
her  movements  were — well,  just  a  trifle  coltish,  yet 


34  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

not  awkward;  there  was  something  entrancingly 
vital  and  youthful  about  her,  he  concluded.  There 
was  no  denying  that  she  was  extremely  pretty,  with 
her  large,  candid  gray-green  eyes,  the  white  softness 
of  her  complexion;  her  mouth,  too — a  cupid's  bow 
mouth,  such  as  he  had  imagined  existed  only  in  the 
minds  of  magazine-cover  artists.  Her  hair,  abun- 
dant with  little  curls,  w^as  a  sombre  gold  in  color. 
She  seemed  to  be  laughing  a  great  deal.  .  .  . 
Everett,  w^atching  her  in  a  haze  of  inexplicable  joy, 
thought  her  quite  perfect. 

Later  on  he  caught  sight  of  her  again  in  the  ball- 
room, dancing  with  a  five- foot  Grotonian;  she  was 
stooping  just  a  little  as  she  danced,  her  fragile 
shoulders  bent  slightly  forward.  He  rushed  across 
the  room,  seized  the  arm  of  a  man  who  had  Just  been 
dancing  with  her,  and  secured  a  mumbled  introduc- 
tion. 

He  had  scarcely  danced  a  half  dozen  steps  with 
her  before  an  idiotic  creature,  smirking  broadly, 
pushed  him  aside,  saying,  "May  I  break  up  this  little 
party?'' 

Anyhow,  he  had  met  her ! 

Ill 

He  made  what  he  considered  the  proper  impres- 
sion by  cutting  in  on  her  five  times  within  the  next 
quarter  of  an  hour.  Towards  one  o'clock  he  per- 
suaded her  gently  that  she  needed  a  rest  and  a  cigar- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  35 

ette,  and  led  her  out  of  the  ballroom.  They  sat  down 
on  one  of  the  steep  little  stairways  leading  to  the 
balconies  that  overlooked  the  dancing  floor,  where 
couples  were  constantly  ascending  and  descending, 
causing  Everett  to  rise  and  make  way  for  them  with 
irritating  frequency.  A  six-foot  brunette  with  a 
reputation  for  facetiousness  shook  her  finger  laugh- 
ingly at  Margaret:  "Sitting  out  again?  My  dear, 
why  don't  you  hire  the  stairs  ?" — but  Margaret  gazed 
at  her  demurely,  wholly  unperturbed. 

Presently  Everett  decided  to  test  her  out ;  he  was 
not  definitely  sure  as  to  what  he  was  going  to  say. 
His  tongue  seemed  to  be  playing  tricks  with  him  .  .  . 

"Fve  been  watching  you  all  the  evening,"  he 
blurted  out.  "Wanting  to  meet  you.  Obsessed  with 
the  idea.  Positively.  Never  had  such  a  definite 
purpose  in  view  before,  I  assure  you." 

The  gray-green  eyes  widened  perceptibly;  for  a 
moment  he  expected  a  snub,  or,  possibly,  a  flippant 
remark.    Instead : 

"You're  not  very  complimentary  to  think  that  kind 
of  thing  pleases  me.  It's  highly  unoriginal,  to  say 
the  least." 

"Well !"  he  said,  astonished.  "You  appear  to  have 
intellect." 

She  laughed  at  that,  a  delightfully  subdued,  rip- 
pling little  laugh. 

"Thanks  for  being  so  candid.  You  mean  you  ex- 
pected that  you'd  drawn  an  absolute  blank.  I  sup- 
pose it  must  be  a  great  relief  to  be  like  that;  all  a 


36  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

girl  has  to  do  is  to  smile  and  listen  while  men  tell 
her  their  life's  history." 

*'You  interest  me,"  he  told  her,  importantly.  "I 
think  we're  going  to  be  very  good  friends." 

"Platonic  friends?" 

^'There's  no  such  thing."  He  was,  of  a  sudden, 
lucid,  vehement.  He  waved  his  arms.  "One  can 
pretend  at  it,  of  course " 

She  laughed. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact  I  feel  that  way  about  it  my- 
self. I  just  wanted  to  see  whether  you'd  figured 
out  that  very  elementary  problem " 

"In  the  cradle,"  he  assured  her.  "I'm  a  worldly 
man.    I " 

She  threw  a  warning  yet  humorous  glance  at 
him. 

"Now  please  don't  begin  talking  about  your 
worldliness.  Men  of  your  age — I  suppose  you're 
under  twenty-five — seem  to  take  an  intense  joy  in 
airing  their  indiscretions— -just  why,  I  can't  imagine. 
Perhaps  it's  something  to  do  with  that  old  saying 
about  every  woman  loving  a  rake." 

"I  am  a  rake,"  he  asserted  gaily,  "a  bold,  bad, 
blustering  rake.  I  don't  belong  here  at  all;  I  must 
be  what  the  psychologists  term  a  'throw  back.'  I 
ought  to  have  been  rampant  centuries  ago — a  swash- 
buckling bandit,  or  a  knight  with  a  white  horse  and 
armor;  Robin  Hood — anything  like  that." 

"An  adventurer  with  a  suitable  background?" 

"Exactly.      With    a    background    of    highways 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  37 

and  byways  and  rude  taverns.  Sword  duels.  Jolly 
old  England.  Ale  and  cheese  and  fair,  fat 
ladies.     ..." 

"How  you  love  to  talk  about  yourself/'  she  mur- 
mured, plucking  a  stray  fragment  of  feather  from 
her  fan. 

"I  don't,"  he  protested, — "really  I  don't.  I'm  the 
most  modest  fellow." 

She  laughed  again. 

"Oh,  I  know  you  assume  an  air  of  modesty — but 
that's  really  a  part  of  conceit,  isn't  it?" 

He  was  crestfallen,  vaguely  aware  that  he  was 
perilously  near  making  a  fool  of  himself. 

"I  see  I'm  not  up  to  your  mental  standard  to- 
night," he  admitted.  "Come  out  with  me  some  time, 
won't  you?  I  like  you  a  whole  lot.  What  class  of 
family  restrictions  do  you  come  under?  Are  you 
completely  emancipated?  Someone  really  ought  to 
standarize  the  rules  for  debutantes." 

She  rose  and  started  down  the  stairs. 

"I'll  come  out  to  tea  with  you  some  time.  Only 
don't  make  any  rash  appointments  now.  We'll  see 
whether  your  interest  in  me  stands  the  test  of  a  tele- 
phone call  a  week  from  now." 

He  took  her  back  to  the  ballroom ;  and  almost  im- 
mediately someone  swept  her  away. 

He  found  himself,  by  accident,  face  to  face  with 
Ella  Cloyne;  for  years  he  had  been  dancing  with 
Ella,  merely  because  he  knew  that  if  he  failed  to 
do  so  she  would  reproach  him  at  their  next  encounter 


38  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

with  a:  "Well — I  thought  you'd  forgotten  my  ex- 
istence !'* 

Feeling  particularly  pleased  with  the  world,  he 
made  himself  unusually  agreeable  to  her. 


CHAPTER  IV 


From  the  middle  of  February  onwards  he  worked 
on  a  salary  basis  at  Trehearn's.  It  was  his  business 
to  supervise  the  new  filing  system — ^a  pet  hobby  of 
the  old  man's — to  keep  several  thousand  diminutive 
colored  slips  of  pasteboard  numerically  arranged  in 
a  steel-drawered  cabinet,  so  that  the  partners  could 
ascertain  at  a  moment's  notice  full  details  of  any 
particular  piece  of  property  in  which  they  were  in- 
terested; it  was  also  part  of  his  business  to  see  that 
additional  cards  were  prepared  to  indicate  newly- 
acquired  property,  and  to  alter  the  old  ones  when- 
ever necessary.  There  were  pink  "For  Sale"  cards, 
green  cards  denoting  property  *'For  Rent,"  yellow 
cards  to  cover  certain  suburban  acreage.  After  a 
week  at  the  filing  system  he  would  walk  home  in  a 
species  of  trance,  red,  green  and  yellow  slips  danc- 
ing before  his  eyes. 

When  he  mildly  suggested  to  Forrester,  the  junior 
partner,  that  any  ten-year-old  boy  could  do  what  he 
was  doing  he  was  informed  that  he  was  gaining  in- 
valuable experience. 

By  the  end  of  the  month  he  loathed  the  sight  of 
39 


40  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

the  filing  cabinet,  and  even  enjoyed  the  momentary, 
if  not  thrilling,  respite  of  operating  the  automatic 
letter  opener. 

He  discovered  that  commissions  were  not  coming 
his  way,  and  he  entertained  a  growing  conviction 
that  he  was  being,  somehow,  stifled,  held  down  in 
a  corner  .  .  .  Indeed,  he  became  so  certain  that  he 
knew  the  files  by  heart  that  he  dropped  the  precau- 
tion of  consulting  the  index  book  before  filing  a  new 
card;  it  was  this,  ultimately,  that  led  to  disaster. 
His  work  became  the  mere  process  of  an  automaton; 
his  mind  was  far,  far  away;  time  and  again  he 
turned  his  eyes  toward  the  clock  and  mentally 
counted  the  hours  until  merciful  release  was  due. 

On  the  first  Monday  in  March  one  of  the  sten- 
ographers emerged  from  old  Trehearn's  inner  office 
and  asked  Everett  for  certain  details  concerning  a 
house  near  Larchmont;  this  house  had  been  rented 
a  week  previously  by  the  junior  partner,  but  Everett 
had  somehow  omitted  to  alter  the  card ;  he  handed  it 
to  the  girl,  who  went  back  to  the  inner  office. 

At  five  o'clock  she  reappeared,  red-eyed  and  mu- 
tinous. She  seized  her  hat  from  a  peg,  jammed  it 
upon  her  neat,  canary-colored  head  and  started 
toward  the  street  door. 

''Where  you  going?''  Everett  asked  as  she  passed 
him.     * 'You're  half  an  hour  ahead  of  time." 

She  turned  and  faced  him,  white  with  anger.  She 
was  rather  a  pretty  little  thing  with  pale,  delicate 
features. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  41 

"I've  quit,"  she  said,  jerking  her  head  toward  the 
inner  office.  "Old  Trehearn  bawled  me  out,  an'  I 
wouldn't  stand  for  it." 

"What  for?"  His  sympathy  was  mingled  with  an 
overwhelming  curiosity. 

This  seemed  to  make  her  supremely  angry. 

"What  for?  You  oughter  know!  That  Larch- 
mont  property  was  rented  a  week  ago  by  Forrester, 
an'  you  didn't  make  a  note  of  it  on  the  files,  you  poor 
boob!  I  wrote  a  letter,  at  Trehearn's  dictation, 
offering  it  for  sale  to  one  of  his  best  clients;  he 
signed  it  and  sent  it.  Then  the  junior  partner  comes 
in  and  tells  him  it's  been  rented  while  he  was  away 
sick  last  week.    Ain't  that  a  hell  of  a  note?" 

He  jumped  up  from  his  chair. 

"Of  course  you  told  them  it  was  my  mistake?" 

She  smiled  wanly. 

"That's  for  them  to  find  out.  Anyways,  I 
wouldn't  stay  on  here  for  a  bet." 

Before  he  could  stop  her  she  had  gone;  he  heard 
the  plate  glass  door  leading  to  the  street  clang  to 
heavily.  He  was  amazed,  shaken;  he  hadn't  known 
before  that  loyalty  of  this  kind  existed;  he  decided 
that  he  must  make  the  matter  right  as  soon  as  he 
could.  He  stepped  over  to  Trehearn's  door,  and 
knocked. 

"What's  the  matter  now  ?"  Trehearn  asked,  glar- 
ing up  at  him  from  an  untidy  heap  of  papers,  as  he 
entered. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you,"  Everett  said,  very  quietly. 


42  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

"that  I  made  the  mistake  on  the  Larchmont  house. 
It  wasn't  Miss  Crowder's  fault,  after  all."^ 

"Humph —  You're  too  careless.  Now  excuse 
me  please;  I'm  busy." 

But  Everett  lingered,  with  a  certain  dogged  per- 
sistence. 

".  .  .  As  it  wasn't  her  fault,  shouldn't  we  take 
her  back?" 

Trehearn  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  desk  vio- 
lently. 

"I  can't  waste  my  time  discussing  ethical  ques- 
tions with  you,  Gail.  The  girl's  gone ;  we  can  easily 
get  another.  Meanwhile,  don't  make  any  more  mis- 
takes in  your  filing.  One  would  think  that  anybody 
could  operate  a  simple  affair  like  that  without  mak- 
ing bungles " 

A  wave  of  rising  anger  surged  into  Everett's 
brain. 

"Anyone  could,"  he  retorted.  "That's  just  my 
point,  Mr.  Trehearn.  You  need  someone  with  less 
initiative  to  do  a  mechanical  task  of  that  kind.  Give 
me  a  real  man's  job  and  I'll  show  you  what  I  can 
do " 

"If  you  don't  like  the  work  we've  given  you," 
said  Trehearn  coldly,  "we  can  dispense  with  your 
services." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Everett.  "I'll  take  the  oppor- 
tunity" ;  and  walked  calmly  out  of  the  offices. 

He  strolled  homeward  feeling  strangely  and  ridic- 
ulously happy;  he  realized,  all  of  a  sudden,  that  this 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  43 

was  the  very  thing  he  had  been  waiting  for,  hoping 
for,  week  after  week.  There  was  an  immense  satis- 
faction, he  concluded,  in  declaring  one's  indepen- 
dence of  people  like  Trehearn  .  .  . 

When  he  reached  the  house  he  decided,  impul- 
sively, to  consult  his  father. 


II 

It  was  only  on  the  rarest  of  occasions  that  Everett 
deliberately  sought  his  father's  advice — especially 
since  they  had  moved  into  the  new  house;  for  dur- 
ing these  days  they  scarcely  saw  each  other,  except 
at  the  dinner  table,  or,  perhaps,  for  a  few  minutes 
afterwards  when  the  family  gathered  in  the  drawing 
room.  This  afternoon,  however,  he  felt  that  he 
must  unburden  himself  of  his  troubles.  The 
Governor,  as  he  called  him,  would  at  least  listen 
without  being  derisive — which  was  more  than  he 
could  hope  from  most  of  his  friends.  His  mother 
would,  of  course,  be  sympathetic,  but  not  actively 
helpful.    One  needed  a  man's  views  in  such  a  case. 

He  found  his  father  in  the  library,  seated  in  a 
leather  armchair  before  the  great  marble  mantle- 
piece,  reading  his  favorite  Republican  newspaper; 
Everett  had  shunned  this  journal  of  late,  because  he 
believed  it  unduly  biased  in  politics;  Everett  liked 
broad-mindedness,  vision;  he  had  voted  for  the 
Democratic  governor  because  he  believed  him  to  be  a 
good  man — at  least  he  thought  that  was  why  he  had 


44  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

voted  Democratic ;  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  really 
done  it  to  assert  his  individuality,  because  he  had 
little  respect  for  the  dyed-in-the-wool  Republicanism 
of  family  traditions.  This  had  invoked  parental 
wrath.  .  .  . 

His  father  regarded  his  entrance  into  the  room 
with  a  vague,  uneasy  curiosity,  manifestly  convinced 
that  trouble  of  some  kind  would  be  forthcoming. 

"Father,"  he  began,  loudly  casual.  *l've  quit  my 
job." 

John  Gail  laid  aside  his  newspaper  with  careful 
deliberation  and  glanced  at  him  over  the  top  of  his 
spectacles. 

"Have  you  had  a  better  offer?" 

Everett  shook  his  head,  stood  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  feet  wide  astride  before  the  fireplace. 

"No." 

He  was  beginning  to  be  a  shade  nervous  because 
his  father  seemed  so  cool,  unperturbed. 

"Are  you  going  to  get  another  job?" 

"Try  to." 

"Tell  me,  if  you  don't  mind,  why  you  left  Tre- 
heam's?" 

Everett  hesitated  an  instant  before  answering. 

"Because,"  he  burst  out,  "I  got  sick  of  filing  silly 
little  colored  cards  all  day  long.  I — I  felt  as  if  I 
were  going  through  kindergarten  again.  I  told  For- 
rester, the  junior  partner,  how  I  felt  about  it,  and 
he  gave  me  a  two-hour  shift  on  the  automatic  letter 
opener— for  variety,  I  suppose." 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  45 

At  last  John  Gail  showed  signs  of  being  angry; 
a  slow  flush  mounted  to  his  pallid  cheeks.  Had 
Everett  told  him  the  whole  story,  the  incident  of  the 
discharged  stenographer,  he  would  doubtless  have 
forgiven  him — perhaps  even  been  secretly  proud  of 
him.  But  Everett  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  too 
genuine  to  make  capital  out  of  the  episode,  realizing 
that  he  had  used  it  merely  as  an  excuse  to  obtain  his 
freedom  from  Trehearn's;  he  wanted  the  Governor 
to  know  exactly  how  he  felt  about  the  firm. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  anyway,  Everett?" 
his  father  burst  out.  "First  you  chuck  college  be- 
cause of  an  idea  that  you'll  do  better  in  business; 
you  ask  me  approve  of  that.  Then  you  chuck  away 
employment  with  a  reputable  firm  just  because  you 
happened  to  be  bored  with  the  work  they've  given 
you.  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  approve  of  that, 
too.  My  God — you'd  think  fathers  were  made  just 
to  approve  of  everything  their  sons  do !" 

Everett  felt  a  little  more  of  his  self-possession 
slipping  from  him. 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do  now?'* 

His  father's  voice  took  on  a  trace  of  anxiety; 
anger  had  vanished,  as  swiftly  as  it  had  arisen, 

" — Tell  me  exactly  what  you'd  like  to  do,  and  I'll 
try  to  help  you,  if  I  can." 

He  perched  himself  upon  the  arm  of  his  father's 
chair,  just  as  he  had  always  done  when  he  was  a 
little  fellow.     It  creaked  ominously. 

"You'll  break  this  chair,  Everett." 


46  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

(Even  this  didn't  work  as  you  expected  it.) 

He  drew  a  long  breath. 

* 'That's  just  the  question.  I  really  don't  know 
what  I  want  to  do;  but  I  must  do  something.  I'm 
riot  the  only  one — we're  all  restless  and  helpless, 
more  or  less — the  young  ones,  I  mean.** 

He  paused,  began  to  bite  his  finger  nails.  It  was, 
he  discovered,  confoundedly  difficult  to  explain  what 
he  meant. 

*T  don't  know  what's  upset  us  all." 

"The  War?"  suggested  John  Gail,  tentatively. 
Everett,  understanding  that  he  was  trying  to  help 
him,  felt  grateful. 

"Yes — ^that's  a  good  deal  to  do  with  it,  I  suppose. 
Over  two  years  have  passed,  but  the  world's  not  the 
same  place  ...  it  wasn't  actually  the  soldiering  that 
made  the  change ;  it  was  everything  that  went  with 
it — pride  and  uniforms,  the  realization  that  you,  at 
eighteen,  could  do  tremendous  things  yourself  .  .  . 
and  then  all  the  rotten  side  of  it,  cruelty;  petty  jeal- 
ousies; lust  for  killing;  women,  of  a  kind  you  never 
met  before.  .  .  .  Oh,  damn  it.  Father,  I  can't  ex- 
plain. We've  changed,  I  guess — and  our  sense  of 
values  is  all  upset,  topsy-turvy.  Things  that  used 
to  seem  worth  while  seem  futile  now,  and  that  makes 
us  all  discontented,  restless  as  the  very  deuce —  I 
went  into  business  because  I  thought  that  it  was  the 
thing  to  do,  but  I  couldn't  stand  a  job  like 
that  .  .  .  give  me  something  with  some  kick  to  it, 
at  least " 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  47 

He  paused,  then  added  vaguely: 

"It's  a  kind  of  germ  in  the  air,  I  suppose,  and 
I've  caught  it  badly." 

''What  you  need,"  said  his  father  grimly,  "is 
some  good  hard  work — like  I  had  when  I  was  your 
age. 

Everett  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"There  isn't  any,  at  least  not  the  kind  I'm  eligible 
for.  The  world  doesn't  even  work  like  it  used  to. 
Everyone's  full  of  beautiful  ideas  and  fine  phrases, 
and  nobody  gets  anywhere.  Why,  you  can't  find 
standing  room  in  the  subway  at  ten  a.  m.  these 
days,  because  most  of  New  York  is  just  deciding 
to  start  to  work  at  that  hour " 

His  lips  curled  into  a  slight  sneer. 

"Sometimes  I  wonder  what  good  it  was  for  you 
to  spend  all  that  money  giving  me  an  education, 
then  to  have  me  floundering  about,  trying  to  find 
one  single  thing  I  could  do  properly." 

"There's  always  the  Law,"  John  Gail  suggested 
softly. 

Everett  shook  his  head. 

"The  War  queered  that  for  me;  I'd  have  a 
long  white  beard  before  I  was  ready  to  pass  my 
bar  examination.  Too  many  got  ahead  of  me 
while  I  was  fooling  around  in  those  radio  schools 
kidding  people  into  the  idea  that  I  was  helping  my 
country '* 

"You're  a  little  too  bitter,  my  boy.  Now,  if 
you'd  explain  to  me  what  you'd  like  to  do " 


48  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

A  sudden  brightness  came  into  Everett's  eyes; 
he  gripped  his  father's  arm. 

"ril  try  to  tell  you  what's  the  matter — then  per- 
haps you'll  understand  what  I'm  groping  for;  I'm 
looking  for  something  very  vague  and  big; — a 
whole  lot  of  things  collected  together— experi- 
ences. ...  I  want  to  touch  Life  itself,  to  feel  the 
very  breath  of  it;  I  want  to — go  through  some- 
thing that  would  give  me  an  opportunity  of  testing 
myself;  something  that  would  show  me  just  what 
I  was  really  worth.  ..." 

He  broke  off,  suddenly  abashed. 

**Maybe  you  think  I'm  crazy,  talking  like  this — " 

John  Gail  rose  slowly,  laying  a  tender  hand  on 
his  shoulder. 

"Thank  you  Everett,"  he  said  simply,  "for  try- 
ing to  tell  me  how  you  feel.  It's  just  a  little  difficult 
for  a  man  growing  old  like  myself  to  comprehend — 
times  have  changed,  certainly,  and  you  young  people 
have  ideas  born  of  your  own  times  and  experiences ; 
we  recognize  that — ^but  it's  a  little  hard  to  get  to- 
gether, isn't  it?  However,  I  must  say  I  think 
you've  got  a  little  too  much  imagination.  Try  to 
curb  it  and  you'll  be  happier." 

With  that  he  was  gone.  Everett  knew  that  he 
had  not  quite  understood.  .  .  . 

in 

Late  that  night  as  Everett  was  undressing  Stod- 
dard came  into  his  bedroom,  a  pair  of  tremendous 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  49 

books  on  architecture  under  his  arm,  and  sat  down 
languidly  in  an  armchair.  Stoddard  was  short- 
sighted and  had  a  habit  of  peering  owlishly  through 
his  horn-rimmed  spectacles  at  whoever  he  was 
talking  to;  just  at  this  moment  the  habit  vaguely 
annoyed  Everett;  he  had  particularly  desired  to  be 
left  alone.  Stoddard's  lack  of  neatness,  too,  irri- 
tated Everett  who  took  considerable  pains  about  his 
appearance.  Why  couldn't  the  fellow  brush  his 
hair  properly? 

Stoddard's  opening  remark  was,  to  say  the  least, 
unfortunate. 

"Hear  you've  lost  your  job,  Everett.'* 

Everett  imagined,  perhaps,  a  patronizing  touch 
in  his  tone. 

"So  I  have.     What  about  it?" 

Stoddard  regarded  the  tips  of  his  shoes,  smiling 
faintly. 

"Thought  you  might  have  stuck  it  out  a  little 
longer.  Anyone  can  see  that  it's  worried  the 
Governor  considerably.  In  fact,  he's  always  worry- 
ing about  you  lately " 

"Meaning  that  you,  being  absolute  perfection, 
should  be  my  example?  You've  done  good  work, 
Stoddard,  but  you  needn't  crow  about  it." 

Stoddard  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Don't  be  so  confoundedly  touchy.  I  came  here  to 
discuss  with  you  what  you  might  do.  I  thought  I 
might  help  you — especially  as  you  don't  seem  to 
have  definite  leanings  toward  anything  in  particular. 


5a  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Personally,  I  think  you  made  a  mistake  to  leave 
New  Haven ** 

Everett  wheeled  round  to  face  him,  waving  a 
toothbrush  and  tumbler  in  the  air. 

*'Look  here,  Stoddard,"  he  said,  desperately. 
"You've  got  your  work  cut  out  for  you.  You  and 
those  like  you  who  know  just  what  you  can  do  in 
life  will  never  be  able  to  realize  what  we  others — 
the  uncertain  ones — go  through;  it's  hell,  I  tell 
you — hell.  — Now  let's  consider  the  subject  closed. 
Fm  glad  you're  happy  yourself,  but  I  don't  need 
your  advice." 

"It's  impossible  to  discuss  anything  with  you," 
Stoddard  replied,  with  all  the  manly  dignity  of 
nineteen,  and  stalked  out  of  the  room. 

"Little  prig,"  murmured  Everett,  as  he  switched 
out  the  light  and  tumbled  into  bed. 


CHAPTER  V 


Everett  had  intended  to  go  in  search  of  a  new 
job  immediately;  but  as  the  days  drifted  by  and 
spring  approached,  bringing  with  it  a  certain 
drowsy  lassitude,  he  found  himself  temporarily  con- 
tent to  idle  away  the  hours.  He  was  grateful,  in  a 
way,  to  his  father  and  mother  because  they  avoided 
any  reference  to  Treheam's,  although  he  had  a 
secret  feeling  that  they  expected  him  to  get  to 
work  pretty  soon  .  .  .  they  left  him  much  to 
his  own  devices.  During  the  warm,  idle  days  he 
found  himself  taking  a  wholly  new  and  fervid  in^ 
terest  in  literature,  indirectly  due  to  the  fact  that 
he  had  recently  formed  a  friendship  with  a  little 
man  called  Baizely,  an  assistant  editor  of  a  literary 
magazine,  whom  he  frequently  met  at  dinners  and 
dances.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  spent  long 
hours  in  his  room,  reading;  this  at  least  gave  him 
the  consolatory  thought  that  he  was  not  entirely 
idle.  Once,  in  a  fit  of  energy  and  repentance,  he 
spent  a  whole  day  tramping  about  Wall  Street  try- 
ing to  find  a  job;  his  lack  of  experience  prevented 

51 


52  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

him  from  discovering  anything  better  than  an  offer 
of  sixteen  dollars  a  week  as  a  ''runner,"  which  he  re- 
fused with  so  much  sarcasm  that  the  broker  who 
tendered  it  was  rendered  speechless  with  indigna- 
tion. 

On  several  occasions  he  took  Margaret  Blair  out 
to  insignificant  little  entertainments — movies,  first, 
perhaps,  and  then  the  Plaza  for  tea.  He  found  her 
each  time,  somehow,  more  delightful  and  amusing 
than  the  last;  they  had  adopted  a  peculiar  form  of 
bantering  toward  each  other  which  was  at  least  re- 
freshing. She  had,  too,  a  faculty  of  always  appear- 
ing beautiful — and  this  in  itself  gave  him  a  vague, 
selfish  satisfaction  in  being  seen  with  her.  Other 
girls  began  to  talk  .  .  . 

As  she  grew  to  like  him  she  became  frankly  wor- 
ried at  the  fact  that  he  was  not  working. 

"YouVe  got  to  do  something,  Ewy,"  she  told 
him  very  gravely  one  afternoon  when  they  were 
walking  in  Central  Park.  ''You've  got  to.  You're 
worth  too  much  to  have  people  saying  that  you're  a 
loafer." 

"I  must  find  something  worth  while  first,"  he  told 
her. 

"Wall  Street  ?"  she  suggested  vaguely. 

He  laughed  mirthlessly. 

"I'd  be  no  good;  I  could  never  get  up  any  enthu- 
siasm over  figures;  I  wouldn't  care  a  hang  whether 
the  bottom  fell  out  of  Consolidated  Cornbeef " 

She  stamped  her  well-shod  little  foot. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  S3 

"Can't  you  ever  be  serious  ?" 

"Not  about  things  like  that,"  he  said  with  con- 
viction. 

She  left  him  with  patent  disapproval  written  in 
her  eyes  that  afternoon.  In  her  mind  Wall  Street 
was  a  tremendous,  intricate  mystery;  yet  she  be- 
lieved there  was  room  for  everyone  there.  She  felt 
sure  that  any  man  who  had  the  will  could  find  a  job 
dealing  with  stocks,  and  bonds,  and  margins — and 
make  untold  money.  .  .  . 

II 

During  these  days  he  was  giving  himself  more 
and  more  to  a  habit  of  introspection — a  thing  which 
he  had  never  done  before.  Life  suddenly  assumed 
tremendous  proportions,  loomed  up  as  a  vast  prob- 
lem in  his  mind;  he  himself  became  an  absorbing 
subject  for  thought.  At  meals  he  hardly  spoke  to 
the  rest  of  the  family. 

A  series  of  warm,  sultry  nights  heralded  spring, 
during  which  he  passed  many  hours  wide  awake, 
fitfully  tossing  about  in  his  bed;  now  and  then, 
through  the  open  French  windows  of  his  bedroom, 
he  heard  a  motor  speeding  up  Fifth  Avenue  with  a 
metallic  hum  of  tires  on  the  smooth  asphalt.  All  the 
world  seemed,  to  him,  on  pleasure  bent;  all  New 
York  appeared  to  spend  its  nights  careering  from 
one  place  of  amusement  to  another. 

There  must  be  something  more  in  life,  he  told 


54  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

himself  again  and  again.  So  many  hours  a  day  in 
an  office;  mechanical  work;  stuff  he  wasn't  in  the 
least  interested  in.  So  many  hours  made  a  week; 
so  many  weeks  made  a  month;  so  many  months  a 
year — then,  perhaps,  promotion.  A  new  man  to 
boss  you ;  a  few  more  men  to  boss.     .     .     . 

He  told  his  father  that  he  had  discovered  the 
world,  found  it  out;  that  it  wasn't  what  it  was 
cracked  up  to  be.  John  Gail  replied  acidly  that 
many  men  of  twenty-two  had  said  the  same  thing. 

He  slept  less  each  night. 

Nothing  to  look  forward  to! 

In  the  evenings,  dances ;  lots  of  girls ;  jazz  music ; 
mild  flirtations ;  drinks — or,  for  variation,  that  other 
kind  of  party,  which  sometimes  began  as  a  "stag'* 
affair  and  ended  up  differently;  roadsters;  road 
houses;  plump,  pert  chorus  girls;  a  certain  amount 
of  indifferent  love-making;  heavy  bills — and  bromo 
seltzer  the  next  morning  .  .  .  eventually  you  grew 
tired  of  that  type  of  amusement,  or  devoted  your 
whole  life  to  it. 

After  a  while,  perhaps,  he  would  marry  a  "nice" 
girl,  and  settle  down  in  perfect  respectability  in  a 
Park  Avenue  apartment,  for  which  his  father  would 
advance  the  rent;  play  bridge  nightly  with  other 
urbane  young  married  couples  of  his  own  "set" ;  he 
would  grow  old,  eventually,  and  fat — and,  possibly, 
prosperous  if  he  were  lucky  enough  to  find  a  career 
to  his  liking. 

Nothing  to  it! 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  55 

Time  and  again  he  deserted  his  bed  in  the  small, 
still  hours  of  the  morning  to  pace  the  floor  of  his 
room: 

"God!    If  I  could  only  do  something  different T 

He  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  undergoing  that  pecu- 
liar form  of  mental  agony  which  only  the  very 
young  suffer — and  only  a  few  of  these — when 
theyVe  on  the  brink  of  life,  and  unnerved  by  a 
stupendous  and  dreadful  fear  of  failure  because  they 
have  not  yet  proved  themselves  capable.  .  .  . 

There  was,  moreover,  that  germ  of  restlessness  in 
his  system  which  craved  continually  for  something 
— ^he  knew  not  what. 

He  came  to  the  ultimate  conclusion  that  life  was 
not  the  glorious  series  of  adventures  he  had  once 
imagined  it  to  be. 

Ill 

He  stood  at  his  window  one  April  morning,  un- 
consciously absorbed  in  the  gentle  beauty  of  early 
spring.  The  park,  pale  green,  flecked  with  golden 
sunlight;  the  vivid  blueness  of  the  serene  sky;  the 
warm  fragrance  of  the  morning  breeze,  sent  the 
blood  coursing  sharply  through  his  veins,  awakened 
him  suddenly  to  the  joy  of  living.  Problems  of  ex- 
istence were,  for  the  while,  banished  from  his  mind. 

On  impulse  he  hurried  to  the  telephone  and  called 
up  Margaret. 

*T*m  going  to  get  my  car  out,"  he  told  her  exult- 


56  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

antly,  "and  we'll  go  way,  way  out  in  the  country 
somewhere,  to  spend  the  day." 

At  ten  o'clock  he  drove  his  car  down  to  her  house, 
a  dozen  blocks  away.  She  appeared,  presently,  on 
the  doorstep,  fresh  and  summery  in  a  childish  dress 
of  apple  green,  a  large,  limp  hat  of  wide-brimmed 
straw.  He  was  conscious  of  an  overwhelming  ad- 
miration for  her  at  the  moment,  a  sheer  pleasure  in 
the  mere  fact  of  her  proximity.  He  found  himself 
speculating  as  to  whether  he  was  actually  in  love 
with  her ;  his  mother,  he  remembered,  had  once  told 
him  that  if  there  was  the  slightest  doubt  in  his  mind 
about  his  loving  a  girl  he  wasn't  in  love  with  her  at 
all.    He  wasn't  quite  sure  about  that  theory  .  .  . 

He  drove  up  Fifth  Avenue  at  characteristic  speed ; 
he  had,  invariably,  the  utmost  confidence  in  himself 
when  at  the  wheel  of  his  car — a  confidence  not  al- 
ways shared  by  his  passengers.  Margaret,  however, 
seemed  devoid  of  nerves;  indeed,  she  even  laughed 
when  on  a  stretch  of  muddy  road  near  New  Rochelle 
they  skidded,  and  narrowly  missed  contact  with  a 
telegraph  pole.  He  admired  her  all  the  more  for  that. 

Somewhere  beyond  Rye  they  turned  into  a  leafy, 
winding  lane  and  cut  across  country  toward  the 
Hudson. 

At  a  particularly  tranquil,  shady  spot  he  stopped 
the  car  suddenly.  The  countryside  was  warm ;  shim- 
mering waves  of  heat  spiralled  upward  from  the 
white  surface  of  the  road ;  a  faint  breeze  idly  stirred 
the  budding  foliage  of  wayside  elms. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  57 

Impulsively  he  leaned  over  and  kissed  her  lips. 
She  submitted  coolly,  almost  indifferently,  her  eyes 
wide  open.  He  was  aware  of  being  obscurely 
shocked  at  her  composure.  .  .  . 

"Margaret,"  he  whispered,  "Margaret.  You  don't 
care  for  me  at  all,  do  you?  When  I'm  just  crazy 
about  you." 

She  pushed  him  away,  smiling  lazily,  her  big 
gray-green  eyes  tenderly  humorous. 

"Everett,  dear,  stop  it!  Spring's  gone  to  your 
head.  I — I  suppose  you  like  me  all  right,  and  it's 
very  lovely  to  be  out  here — but  you  can't  honestly 
and  truly  say  that  you  love  me,  can  you?" 

Her  candid  gaze  met  his,  unflinching;  he  hung  his 
head  unconsciously. 

"I'm  pretty  sure  of  it,  Margaret." 

Her  sense  of  humor  then  came  to  the  rescue ;  she 
laughed,  that  subdued,  delicious  little  laugh  of  hers. 

"Oh,  Everett,  you're  a  perfect  scream.  You  don't 
just  know  what  you  want — whether  it's  a  girl,  or 
business,  or  anything  else.  Suppose  you  tell  me  ex- 
actly what  you  want,  most  of  all?" 

He  frowned,  his  hands  playing  idly  with  the  steer- 
ing wheel. 

"I  want  to  get  something  worth  while  out  of  life !" 

He  restarted  the  car;  shot  down  the  road  at  a 
reckless  pace,  eloquent  of  his  state  of  mind. 

They  lunched  at  a  placid  little  white  inn  hidden 
behind  a  mass  of  elms,  not  very  far  from  Tarry- 
town.    He  left  the  car  at  a  garage  a  few  hundred 


58  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

yards  down  the  road,  as  there  was  a  minor  repair 
to  be  done,  and  they  found  a  table  under  the  trees 
beside  a  red  brick,  moss-grown  path  that  led  to  a 
formal  little  garden  ablaze  with  tulips.  An  old 
woman,  haggard  and  toothless,  came  up  to  them 
with  a  basket  full  of  flowers,  and  when  Margaret 
said  that  she  liked  them  Everett  purchased  the  whole 
basket.  She  reproved  him  gently  for  his  extrava- 
gance, but  it  made  his  heart  thump  within  him  to 
see  her  glistening  eyes  as  she  buried  her  face  in  the 
white  yielding  mass  of  buds.  It  was  all  very  pleas- 
ant and  delightful.  Never,  he  felt,  had  he  spent  quite 
such  a  perfect  day.  .  .  . 

After  luncheon  was  over  he  told  her  to  wait 
while  he  went  to  fetch  the  car. 


IV 


There  was  a  trolley  track,  irregular  and  weed- 
grown,  running  parallel  to  the  road,  Everett  noticed, 
as  he  swung  out  of  the  garage  and  headed  in  the 
direction  of  the  inn  where  Margaret  was  awaiting 
him.  A  hundred  yards  from  the  garage  he  came  to 
an  abrupt  turn  in  the  road ;  as  he  slowed  down  a  tiny 
girl  in  a  vivid  red  dress  clambered  down  from  a  stone 
wall  by  the  roadside  and  came  scampering  directly 
across  the  path  of  his  car.  He  applied  the  brakes 
sharply ;  halted.  The  child,  unharmed  and  giggling, 
sped  across  the  road  and  on  to  the  trolley  track.  He 
swore  quietly  and  restarted  the  car. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  59 

Around  the  comer  came  an  open  trolley,  reeling 
and  swaying,  packed  to  overflowing;  men  clinging 
perilously  to  the  running  board.  The  child  looked 
up,  stumbled  on  the  track,  and  fell  in  a  sprawling, 
helpless  heap.  Everett  heard  her  thin  little  wail  curl- 
ing up  into  the  air;  the  insistent  clamor  of  the  trol- 
ley's gong.  ...  His  foot  came  down  hard  on  the 
accelerator ;  he  swung  the  steering  wheel  round ;  the 
car,  responding  like  a  living  thing,  plunged  onto  the 
track;  then  he  threw  on  the  brakes.  ...  He  was 
dimly  aware  of  the  motorman  shouting,  frantically 
spinning  the  handbrake;  the  trolley  loomed  over 
him,  gigantic,  grotesque.  Came  a  grinding,  scrap- 
ing crash ;  broken  glass  from  the  windscreen,  pour- 
ing in  a  blinding,  glittering  shower  over  his  head  and 
face.  .  .  . 

He  stood  up  swaying,  almost  stunned.  A  shrill 
peal  of  laughter  from  the  little  girl  reached  his  ears, 
as  if  from  a  great  distance.  Passengers  from  the 
trolley  surrounded  him  in  a  blurred,  shouting,  ges- 
ticulating swarm.  He  saw  the  motorman,  with  a  red 
gash  across  his  cheeks  truculent,  yet,  somehow,  piti- 
ful. .  .  .  A  fat  man,  too,  in  striped  shirt  sleeves 
with  a  straw  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  trying  to 
make  himself  heard  above  the  babel  of  excited 
voices : 

"He  did  it  to  save  the  kid,  I  tell  you.  I  was  on  the 
front  platform,  I  saw  him.     .     .     ." 

Two  young  men  in  the  background  attempted  a 
spontaneous  but  feeble  cheer.     The  motorman,  still 


66  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

truculent,  pointed  to  the  fender  of  his  trolley,  re- 
duced to  a  twisted,  meaningless  heap  of  metal. 

** Yeah— but  what  about  that?  They'll  hold  me 
responsible." 

"I'll  settle  that,"  Everett  heard  himself  say 
loudly;  he  felt  curiously  light-headed;  there  was 
something  warm,  too,  trickling  down  his  cheek. 

A  stout  Irishwoman  screamed. 

"The  lad's  hurt — and  bless  his  heart.  The  brav- 
est thing  I've  seen  in  all  me  born  days." 

And,  then,  to  his  utter  shame  she  bent  down,  tore 
off  a  piece  of  flamboyant  petticoat,  and  insisted 
upon  tenderly  binding  his  head. 

There  was,  presently,  a  slight  commotion  in  the 
crowd,  and  Margaret  was  suddenly  at  his  side,  pale 
and  trembling,  her  lips  pressed  together  in  a  queer 
little  straight  white  line ;  he  felt  her  cool  hand  in  his, 
and  it  fortified  him. 

"If  you  can  do  that  kind  of  thing,"  she  whispered, 
her  eyes  very  wide  and  shining,  "you  needn't  worry 
about  yourself." 

She  was  very  near  to  loving  him  just  then. 


At  the  gatage  they  said  that  it  would  take 
several  days  to  repair  the  car,  so  he  and  Margaret 
decided  to  pass  the  afternoon  quietly  under  the  elm 
trees  by  the  inn  until  it  was  time  to  take  the  train 
home. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  6i 

**!  wonder,"  she  asked,  out  of  a  clear  sky,  "why 
we're  all  so  discontented  at  heart,  Everett?  It  isn't 
playing  the  game,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it. 
Parents,  for  instance — they  didn't  have  half  the 
pleasures,  or  half  the  liberty  we  have,  when  they 
were  young.  And  yet  they  seem  to  have  enjoyed 
themselves  twice  as  much." 

"I  know,"  Everett  said.  ''Bicycling  and  cotillions 
— formal  Sunday  afternoon  teas.  Perhaps  it 
worked  beautifully;  but  the  world's  changed  since 
then,  and  it's  hard  for  some  of  them  to  realize 
it " 

He  leaned  forward,  increasingly  vehement. 

"I'll  tell  you  one  of  the  things  that  makes  life 
complicated  for  us  just  now.  We've  been  brought 
up  soaked  in  traditions  and  conventions,  and  all 
of  a  sudden  we've  discovered  that  we  can  discard 
them  without  doing  ourselves  the  least  harm  — 
and  then  we're  not  happy  till  we  have  discarded 
them." 

She  saw  what  he  meant,  and  added  eagerly : 

"Yes — ^and  when  you  realize  that  what  you 
thought  all  along  was  final,  isn't  final  at  all  but 
merely  what  people  told  you " 

"The  world's  got  to  go  on.  ..."  Everett  said 
importantly,  drumming  his  fingers  on  the  table. 

And  so  they  threshed  it  out,  until  the  shadows 
lengthened  under  the  trees  and  the  sun  dropped  be- 
hind the  hills  across  the  Hudson;  and,  although 
they  came  to  no  definite  conclusions  they  felt  that 


62  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

they   understood   each   other   far   better  than   be- 
fore. .  .  . 

At  six  o'clock  they  hurried,  arm  in  arm,  down  the 
winding  road  to  Tarrytown  and  boarded  a  home- 
ward-bound train. 


CHAPTER  VI 


Everett's  newest  friend,  Baizely  the  magazine 
editor,  used  to  pop  up  unexpectedly  in  the  stag-hne  of 
various  debutante  parties  and  invite  him  to  a  chat 
and  a  cigarette  in  a  quiet  comer;  this  marked  the 
beginning  of  an  entirely  new  phase  in  Everett's  life 
— a  sudden  and  fervid  interest  in  art  and  literature. 
With  him  as  a  willing,  interested  audience  Baizely 
would  sometimes  work  himself  into  an  extraordinary 
pitch  of  enthusiasm  over  some  disputed  question  of 
technique,  rumpling  his  smooth,  honey-colored  hair 
as  he  talked,  until  it  stood  up  straight  from  his  head 
like  the  crest  of  some  ridiculous  cockatoo;  on  such 
occasions  he  looked,  Everett  thought,  for  all  the 
world  like  a  very  excited,  hot  little  boy  at  play. 

"Now,  there's  Meissonier,"  Baizely  once  re- 
marked,— "look  at  his  pictures  through  a  magnify- 
ing glass,  and  you'll  discover  infinite  detail — ^things 
which  the  human  eye  overlooks.  That  may  be  per- 
fect mechanics,  but  it's  hardly  art " 

Everett  happened  to  repeat  this  to  Cuyler  Vander- 
venter,  an  old-fashioned  New  Yorker  who  used  to 

63 


64  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

dine  frequently  at  the  Gail's.  Vanderventer,  to  his 
dismay,  promptly  vowed  that  Baizely  talked  stuff 
and  nonsense,  and  that  Meissonier's  art  was  unques- 
tioned. Divergences  of  opinion  such  as  this  enabled 
Everett  the  better  to  realize  the  limitless  field  he  had 
embarked  upon. 

He  was  whole-heartedly  enthusiastic — as  he  was, 
inevitably,  over  anything  new — for  several  weeks. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  found  himself  wan- 
dering about  art  galleries;  on  one  occasion  he  pur- 
chased several  Kirschner  prints  at  an  art  shop,  and 
thereby  unwittingly  provoked  a  discussion  at  the 
family  dinner  table  as  to  whether  they  were  really 
artistic,  or  mere  camouflage  for  vulgarity.  His 
father  mildly  took  the  former  view,  but  his  mother 
firmly  requested  him  never  again  to  decorate  the 
w^alls  of  any  room  in  h-er  house  with  such  pictures. 

From  art  Baizely  led  him  gently  on  to  literature. 
Everett,  whose  previous  literary  diet  had  been  con- 
fined to  adventures  on  the  Yukon  Trail  and  the 
Northwest  Frontier — plus  a  minimum  of  compul- 
sory Walter  Scott — had  his  eyes  suddenly  opened 
to  a  new  vista  of  things.  His  mother  discovering 
him  reading  Gorky  at  two  in  the  morning,  was 
vaguely  worried.  .  .  . 

Speculating  upon  the  possibility  of  his  having 
creative  ability  himself  he  stayed  up  for  several 
nights  composing  lyrical  poems.  Baizely  pronounced 
them  no  worse  than  the  average  neophyte's,  thereby 
needlessly  compelling  him  to  consult  the  dictionary: 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  65 

**It*s  only  a  phase,"  his  father  said  hopefully, 
"He'll  get  over  it  in  time — like  everything  else." 

A  poet  friend  of  Baizely's  told  him  that  he  must 
see  dawn  from  Brooklyn  Bridge,  which  he  did,  and 
incidentally  discovered  that  New  York  has  its  mo- 
ments of  infinite  beauty. 

"I  think  I'll  go  to  live  in  Greenwich  Village,"  he 
told  Baizely  impulsively,  one  evening  after  dinner 
at  the  Yale  Club,  "and  get  the  proper  atmosphere." 

Baizely's  frown  of  disapproval  came  as  a  consider- 
able surprise  to  him. 

"Ever  been  there?"  he  asked,  sucking  at  his  pipe. 

"Only  to  a  couple  of  those  cellar  restaurants " 

"Once,"  Baizely  said,  confidentially,  over  their 
coffee,  "about  two  years  ago  I  myself  had  an  idea 
that  Greenwich  Village  might  develop  some  hidden 
spring  of  talent  within  me.  O  fatal  error !  I  found 
quarters  on  the  top  floor  of  a  house  in  Thompson 
Street.  I  had  two  fellow-boarders — one  was  a 
fervid  little  painter,  obsessed  with  what  he  called 
The  Immensity  of  Existence,  which  he  tried  to  de- 
pict in  green  and  purple  blotches  on  a  ten-inch  can- 
vas. The  other  was  a  poetic  exponent  of  Free  Love 
who  hadn't  enough  cash  to  put  his  theories  into  prac- 
tice; he  was  rather  pathetic.  ...  I  endured  them, 
somehow,  for  three  months,  and  then  got  tired  of 
their  perpetual  cynicisms,  and  left  them." 

"I  wonder  if  they're  still  there,"  Everett  mused. 

Baizely  laughed  softly. 

"They  used  to  hold  a  kind  of  reception  every 


66  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Friday  night — ^tonight's  Friday.  If  you  care  to  go 
we  might  look  them  up — "  he  paused,  smiling  ironi- 
cally—  "but  I'll  only  take  you  there  because  I  want 
to  get  this  Greenwich  Village  idea  out  of  your  head; 
the  more  you  dwell  on  it  the  more  magnificent  it  will 
become  in  your  mind.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  only 
clever  thing  about  Greenwich  Village  is  the  way  it 
manages  to  advertise  itself — ^they  have  specially- 
trained  spiders  down  there,  I  believe,  to  weave  suit- 
able cobwebs  on  the  walls.     .     .     ." 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  when  they  reached 
Thompson  Street  and  entered  the  door  of  a  sombre 
building  whose  red  brick  walls  were  disfigured  by 
an  intricate  mass  of  flimsy  fire  escapes.  Baizely  led 
the  way  along  a  narrow,  gaslit  passage  and  up  end- 
less, creaking  stairs. 

Everett  presently  found  himself  in  a  dimly- 
lighted  room,  had  a  blurred  impression  of  being 
introduced  to  a  swarm  of  babbling  people.  Every- 
one was  sitting,  for  some  obscure  reason,  cross- 
legged  on  the  floor,  although  there  were  plenty  of 
empty  chairs,  and  also  a  sagging  divan  in  the  corner 
of  the  room. 

"Welcome,"  said  a  tall,  cadaverous  man  with  a 
black  beard,  who  looked,  Everett  thought,  like  a 
Giotto  John  the  Baptist.  "Our  little  gathering  hails 
you  with  open  arms  as  fellow  artists." 

He  turned  to  Everett. 

"And  are  you  wielder  of  the  brush  or  the  pen  ?" 

"Neither,"  said  Everett,  and  added  in  an  uncon- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  67 

trollable  spirit  of  mischief :  "I'm  a  filing  system  ex- 
pert." 

John  the  Baptist,  utterly  crushed,  melted  into  the 
crowd. 

Presently  a  young  man  with  an  astonishingly  pale 
face  and  unruly  black  hair  began  to  read  extracts 
from  Baudelaire;  these  he  followed  with  a  poem  of 
his  own  composition,  which  he  modestly  referred  to 
as  a  ''whimsical  gem  of  thought"  ("Conceited  ass!" 
whispered  Everett  to  Baizely  at  his  side).  The  title 
of  the  poem,  the  poet  announced  was  "My  Soul  is 
like  a  Stained  Glass  Window."  He  added,  with  a 
certain  incomprehensible  pride,  that  it  had  already 
been  rejected  by  twenty-seven  magazines. 

"We  are  above  the  level  of  the  public  prints,  I 
fear,"  he  remarked  demurely,  "because  we  refuse  to 
become  slaves  of  tradition." 

Next  appeared  a  young  lady  with  strikingly  short 
raven  locks  and  a  basso  prof  undo  voice,  who  read 
a  manuscript  upon  The  Stupidity  of  Convention. 
Some  of  it  startled  Everett ;  the  others  present  were 
patently  bored. 

"She,"  Baizely  said,  incautiously  allowing  his 
voice  to  rise  above  a  whisper,  "is  imbued  with  the 
old,  old  fallacy  that  morality  is  irreconcilable  with 
art.    It's  a  common  fault.  .  .  ." 

A  buxom,  amiable-looking  girl  wearing  a  cinna- 
mon-colored blouse  and  jade  earrings  overheard 
him. 

"You  are  not  Genuine,"  she  remarked.     "She,  on 


68  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

the  other  hand,  is  Natural  as  God  made  her.  Conven- 
tion has  deadened  you  to  The  True  Beauties  of  Life.'* 

She  talked  as  if  she  spelled  her  words  with  capi- 
tals. 

"Madam,"  Baizely  replied  sharply,  although  his 
lips  were  twitching  with  irrepressible  mirth,  "neither 
are  you  natural.  Your  people  here  have  cultivated 
a  so-called  art  which  is  merely  a  stupendous  affecta- 
tion. With  it  you  try  to  impress  others  as  well  as 
yourselves." 

The  lady  appeared  interested,  even  faintly  amused. 

"At  least,"  she  conceded,  "you  speak  Freely — 
which  is  more  than  I  can  grant  most  of  your  kind. — 
Then  you  fail  to  recognize  any  points  of  merit  in 
Our  Little  World  here?" 

"Very  few,"  Baizely  replied  crisply.  "It  seems  to 
me  that  a  certain  obscurity  of  language  backed  by 
a  little  degeneracy  of  thought  will  pass  for  talent 
every  time." 

Oddly  enough  she  seemed  to  find  this,  too,  amus- 
ing. 

It  was  only  after  the  session  was  over  that  she 
condescended  to  explain.  Everett  and  Baizely  left, 
after  they  had  each  partaken  of  a  glass  of  sour 
California  claret,  and  she  joined  them  as  they  were 
hurrying  through  the  coolness  of  the  night  toward 
the  Christopher  Street  station. 

"Why  were  you  laughing?"  Baizely  demanded 
suspiciously. 

"The  poor,  dear  things,"  she  whispered.   "They're 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  69 

the  best  material  for  humor  in  the  world — but, 
luckily,  they  don't  realize  it.  I'm  down  here  to  write 
a  series  of  stories  for  The  Neapolitan.  Well — so 
long!'* 

And  she  skipped  away,  clumsily,  into  the  darkness. 

Everett  turned  to  Baizely,  almost  angrily. 

"Why  did  you  bring  me  here,  anyway?"  he  asked. 
"I  thought  you  wanted  me  to  do  something — crea- 
tive, as  you  call  it.  Then  you  take  me  amongst  a 
crowd  of  artists  and  proceed  to  ridicule  them." 

Baizely  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

*'My  dear  Everett.  I  brought  you  here  because  I 
knew  you  had  enough  common  sense  to  see  through 
the  foolishness  of  it.  Those  who  succeed  here — there 
are  a  number  of  them,  to  be  sure — are  successful  in 
spite  of  their  surroundings ;  not  on  account  of  them." 

"Then,"  Everett  said  desperately,  "youVe  got  to 
go  to  Europe  if  you  want  to  become  a  real  artist,  or 
writer?" 

Baizely  deliberated  before  replying.  They  had 
reached  the  steps  of  the  subway. 

"Not  at  all —  If  you  have  genuine  talent,  drasti- 
cally original  and  American,  you  can  succeed  any- 
where— in  a  Bronx  apartment  for  instance.  What 
I've  been  trying  to  prove  to  you  is  that  if  the  divine 
spark  isn't  in  you,  cheap  red  wine  and  an  avoidance 
of  the  barber  won't  help  you  to  develop  it" 

II 
The  following  morning,  in  a  fit  of  revulsion,  he 


70  RREATH  OF  LIFE 

tore  up  his  first  attempts  at  sketching ;  decided  once 
and  for  all  that  the  Lord  had  not  patterned  him  for 
an  artist.  A  few  days  later  a  friend  dropped  a 
chance  remark  concerning  a  vacancy  in  the  down- 
town offices  of  The  United  Typewriter  Company. 
After  a  night  of  indecision,  he  hurried  downtown 
and  secured  the  job,  which  was  in  the  Export  De- 
partment. The  salary  was  negligible;  it  barely  pur- 
chased him  his  weekly  quota  of  cigarettes,  and  paid 
for  his  carfare. 

Life  went  on  fairly  smoothly  after  that.  Spring 
merged  into  summer;  open  cars  and  straw  hats  ap- 
peared on  Broadway,  and  whirling  clouds  of  yellow 
dust.  The  United  Typewriter  staff  began  to  work 
in  shirt  sleeves.  Margaret  Blair  left  for  Bar 
Harbor. 

He  plodded  on,  grave,  quiet,  unsmiling.  During 
June  his  mother  and  Emily  packed  up  and  sailed  for 
Europe;  his  father  remained  in  New  York,  and  the 
two  of  them  often  dined  out  together  during  the 
long  summer  evenings.  John  Gail  was,  at  this  time, 
growing  proud  of  his  son,  and  felt  that  he  had  some- 
how gained  a  new  sense  of  responsibility.  But  deep 
down  within  Everett,  although  he  himself  was  al- 
most unaware  qi  it,  the  fires  of  restlessness  were  still 
smouldering. 

Margaret  wrote  him  occasionally  in  a  round, 
childish  hand;  her  letters  were,  for  the  main  part, 
flippant,  trivial.  She  signed  herself  invariably  "with 
love,"  but  he  realized  that  in  these  enlightened  days 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  fl 

the  phrase  signified  little  more  than  a  spontaneous 
burst  of  good  feeling  towards  him.  .  .  . 

Ill 

Stoddard  was  in  New  York  throughout  the  sum- 
mer, industrious  and  absorbed,  as  usual,  in  his  study 
of  architecture.  Everett  never  quite  understood  his 
younger  brother — was  almost,  secretly,  afraid  of 
him.  Stoddard  was  so  self-contained;  seemed  to 
require  no  help  from  anyone;  he  was,  moreover,  an 
apparent  model  of  virtue.  This  vaguely  irritated 
Everett,  who  considered  that  he  was  taking  life  alto- 
gether too  seriously.  All  this  was  changed  abruptly 
one  July  night  when  Stoddard  came  to  his  bedroom, 
looking  dishevelled,  pale  and  worried. 

*T've  got  to  see  you  a  minute,  Everett,"  he  said 
hoarsely,  and  when  Everett  told  him  to  come  in,  he 
closed  the  door  behind  him  with  excessive  caution. 

"Trouble?"  Everett  asked,  laconically. 

Stoddard  nodded;  took  a  seat.  His  fingers  beat  a 
nervous  tattoo  upon  the  arm  of  the  chair. 

"Fm  in  a  hell  of  a  fix." 

Everett  was  tremendously  surprised.  Such  an  ad- 
mission from  Stoddard  was  unprecedented. 

"Fve  always  led  a  pretty  decent  life — "  Stoddard 
began;  then  stopped,  his  cheeks  suffused  with  crim- 
son. 

**Go  on,"  Everett  said. 

"Well — here  goes.  You  remember  Dawn  Whit- 
ing— in  the  Manhattan  Follies?" 


^2  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Everett's  eyes  widened;  he  remembered  Dawn 
Whiting,  certainly,  as  a  dizzy  blonde  he  had  once 
met  at  a  Motion  Picture  Ball  in  the  days  when  he 
attended  such  functions,  and  thought  them  splendid. 
Dawn,  he  had  decided,  was  about  as  easy  to  handle  as 
dynamite ;  he  had,  sensibly,  determined  to  avoid  her. 

Stoddard  coughed;  continued  with  certain  pitiful 
determination. 

"I  met  her  through  Howard  Morgan.  That  time, 
two  weeks  ago,  when  you  and  the  Governor  thought 
Fd  gone  to  spend  the  week  end  with  Lees  at  Lake 
Placid,  I  didn't  go  there  at  all " 

**Where  did  you  go?" 

"Atlantic  City — four  of  us,  in  Morgan's  car;  I 
drove." 

Light  dawned  suddenly  upon  Everett;  he  was 
dumbfounded — at  this  new  revelation  of  Stoddard^s 
complexities. 

'T  see.  Very  unofficial  party — I  suppose  that's 
what  you're  driving  at  ?" 

Stoddard  nodded ;  hung  his  head. 

"Where  do  I  come  in?"  Everett  asked  coldly. 

"We  skidded  into  a  telegraph  pole.  Dawn  broke 
her  arm;  she  wants  two  thousand  dollars  or  she'll 
sue.  Morgan's  broke.  I  don't  know  what  to  do — 
unless  I  write  Mother.  You  know  what  the  Gov- 
ernor would  do " 


Everett  rose,  stood  towering  above  him. 
"H  you  ever  breathed  a  word  of  this  to  Mother 
Fd  wring  your  miserable  little  neck  for  you." 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  73 

He  crossed  the  room  to  a  writing  table,  opened  a 
drawer  and  produced  an  oblong  check  book. 

**How  much  have  you  got?" 

^'Exactly  nine  hundred  in  the  bank,"  Stoddard 
whined. 

"Eleven  hundred  will  cover  it — youVe  sure?" 

Everett's  pen  was  poised  in  the  air;  his  brother 
nodded  hurriedly. 

Presently  Everett  handed  him  the  yellow  slip  of 
paper. 

"There.    Take  it." 

"Y-youVe  pretty  white,"  Stoddard  stammered, 
seizing  it.  " — Doesn*t  this  set  you  back  a  good 
deal?" 

Everett  laughed  mirthlessly. 

"It's  put  an  end  to  my  chances  of  getting  a  new 
car — ^that's  all.  Now  please  don't  say  a  word  about 
this  damned  business  again." 

As  Stoddard  rose  to  go  Everett  laid  a  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  smiling  grimly. 

"After  this,  Stoddard,  you'd  better  keep  clear  of 
that  kind  of  thing.  Fellows  like  you  weren't  cut  out 
for  it " 

After  he  had  gone  Everett  lay  awake  for  an  hour 
pondering  over  the  affair.  Primarily,  he  was  thank- 
ful that  Stoddard  had  given  him  the  opportunity  of 
keeping  it  a  secret.  No  one  else  need  ever  know; 
Stoddard  would  continue  to  hold  an  untarnished  rep- 
utation; he,  Everett,  would  still  be  regarded  as  the 
family's  only  source  of  worry.    Curious  how  things 


74  J^EATH  OF  LIFE 

worked  out.  .  .  .  There  was,  somehow,  a  certain 
acid  yet  almost  humorous  feeling  of  satisfaction  in 
the  knowledge  that  he  had  maintained  Stoddard's 
prestige. 


CHAPTER  VII 


Summer  merged  into  autumn  and  Everett  plodded 
on;  he  was  dogged,  persevering.  He  learned  all 
there  was  to  learn  concerning  the  export  of  type- 
writers—or, at  least,  so  it  seemed  to  him.  He  did 
not  love  his  work,  nor  did  he  actually  detest  it.  It 
was,  perhaps,  the  constant  hope  of  promotion  that 
kept  him  at  it. 

One  afternoon  in  early  November,  the  first  cold 
day  of  the  approaching  winter,  Mr.  Hume,  Manager 
of  the  Export  Department,  a  pale,  shrivelled  little 
man  with  a  skin  like  parchment,  summoned  him  to 
his  private  office.  The  clock  indicated  five  minutes 
before  five;  Everett  placed  the  metal  cover  on  the 
adding  machine  which  he  had  been  operating — his 
last  task  of  the  day — and  followed  the  beckoning 
office  boy,  his  heart  thumping  loudly.  This,  then, 
he  thought,  must  be  promotion — at  last. 

Mr.  Hume  greeted  him  with  a  nod,  motioned  to 
him  to  take  a  seat,  and  began  to  fuss  among  a  pile 
of  papers  on  his  desk ;  presently  handed  him  a  mime- 
ographed bulletin  issued  from  the  President's  office. 

75 


76  BJIEATH  OF  LIFE 

It  was,  Everett  saw,  a  report  of  a  recent  directors* 
meeting;  he  did  not  attempt  to  read  it,  but  glanced, 
instead,  enquiringly  at  Mr.  Hume. 

**You've  done  good  work — very  good  work,"  be- 
gan the  little  man ;  and  then  paused,  for  no  apparent 
reason. 

" — Yes.  I  may  say  that  youVe  been  extremely 
conscientious ' ' 

He  paused  again;  picked  up  a  colored  pencil  and 
began  toying  with  it  nervously;  a  slight  frown 
puckered  his  colorless  brow.  Everett  waited,  silent, 
motionless. 

" — however,  as  you  see  by  this  bulletin,  we've  re- 
ceived orders  to  economize.  The  whole  country  is 
going  through  a  critical  stage  .  .  .  prices  soared 
for  a  while      .  .  then  dropped." 

As  if  through  a  fog  Everett  heard  his  voice  dron- 
ing on.  It  was  then  that  the  truth  seared  across  his 
brain;  the  reason  for  the  interview  became,  of  a 
sudden,  appallingly  clear. 

".  .  .  All  wars  have  been  followed  by  precisely 
such  an  economic  situation  .  .  ,  the  Civil  War,  for 
instance.  ..." 

''You  mean,"  Everett  said,  "that  you're  going  to 
fire  me  ?" 

Mr.  Hume  coughed  delicately;  drew  a  geometrical 
pattern  upon  his  blotting  paper. 

"Don't  put  it  that  way,  please.  When  things  be- 
gin to  adjust  themselves,  maybe  in  several  months 
from  now,  we  will  remember  you " 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  yy 

"How  many  others  are  going?"  Everett  asked 
tensely. 

Again  Mr.  Hume  coughed. 

"As  it  happens,  only  two  at  present  in  this  de- 
partment— the  last  men  to  be  employed  by  us. 
That's  the  fairest  way,  of  course.  Others  may  fol- 
low. ...  As  I  was  pointing  out,  history  shows 
several  remarkable  parallels.  Now,  after  the  Civil 
War " 

Quite  suddenly  Everett  was  conscious  of  an  infi- 
nite contempt  for  the  dried-up  little  man  and  his 
historical  parallels.  So  sure  of  himself,  so  con- 
foundedly pedantic,  too.  .  .  . 

"Oh,  damn  the  Civil  War,"  he  said  loudly,  and 
left  the  office.  Out  in  the  narrow  hallway  he  el- 
bowed his  way  through  a  crowd  of  laughing,  banter- 
ing employees.  Someone  called  after  him— offered 
him  a  lift  uptown  in  an  automobile.  He  did  not 
answer. 

Outside  it  was  bitterly  cold;  he  bent  his  head  to 
the  icy  gale  that  was  sweeping  down  Broadway,  and 
headed  for  the  Fulton  Street  subway  station;  his 
mind  was  in  a  chaotic  whirl.  .  .  . 

When  he  reached  the  house  he  hurried  up  to  his 
bedroom,  slammed  the  door,  and  locked  it. 

He  did  not  go  down  to  dinner  at  seven  o'clock; 
it  would  be  difficult,  he  felt,  to  face  his  father — and 
Stoddard,  who  would  in  all  probability  be  patroniz- 
ingly sympathetic. 

A  few  minutes  before  eight  he  decided  to  call  up 


78  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Margaret,  to  tell  her  what  had  happened.  He  was 
convinced  that  she  alone  could  give  him  the  under- 
standing sympathy  which  he  so  needed  at  the  mo- 
ment. Besides,  he  had  only  seen  her  once  since  she 
had  returned  to  town ;  he  wanted  to  talk  over  things 
with  her.  .  .  . 

Margaret  herself  answered  the  telephone,  after  a 
long  delay  which  made  him  fitfully  impatient;  he 
heard  her  voice,  faint  and  sweet,  just  a  little  per- 
turbed ;  he  knew  instinctively  that  she  was  busy,  pre- 
occupied, but  told  her  that  he  must  see  her. 

"I  can't,  Everett,"  she  said.  "I'm  awfully  sorry — 
I'm  going  out  with  Hal  Jones  and  his  brother,  and 
Edith  Way." 

Hal  Jones,  he  remembered,  was  the  man  who 
had  dined  with  Emily  and  himself  on  the  night  he 
had  arrived  from  New  Haven,  almost  a  year  ago. 
Everett  had  met  him  several  times  since,  and  had 
disliked  him  increasingly.  Jones,  he  considered,  was 
the  most  perfect  specimen  of  a  parlor  snake  that  he 
knew;  he  had  a  way  of  worming  himself  into  the 
affections  of  elderly  matrons  with  his  perfect  man- 
ners ;  and  yet  Everett  knew  something  of  his  Broad- 
way reputation.  ... 

"Cancel  your  date  with  them,"  he  suggested.  "I 
really  must  see  you  tonight.  I'm  as  blue  as  the 
deuce " 

"I  couldn't  do  that,"  he  heard  her  reply,  almost 
pleadingly.  "We're  going  to  the  theatre,  and  sup- 
per afterwards." 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  79 

He  became  acutely  suspicious. 

"All  last  winter  you  told  me  you  weren't  allowed 
to  go  out  to  supper  places " 

It  seemed  to  him  that  she  hesitated  unnecessarily 
before  answering;  then  he  heard  her  voice  again, 
still  gentle  and  pleading. 

"Please  be  reasonable.  I'll  go  out  with  you  any 
time  you  say." 

He  became  the  victim  of  an  absurd  idea  that  now 
was  the  time  to  test  her,  once  and  for  all.  He  real- 
ized that  he  was  being  utterly  unreasonable,  but  in 
his  mingled  disappointment  and  anger  he  felt  a  cer- 
tain bitter  satisfaction  in  his  own  insistence. 

"Then  cut  out  this  Jones'  party,"  he  told  her,  "that 
is — if  you  care  a  hang  about  me." 

She  answered  him  promptly,  almost  sharply. 

"I  told  you  I  couldn't  do  that,  Everett.  What  has 
got  into  you  tonight ?" 

He  slammed  up  the  receiver,  without  replying.  If 
she  would  rather  go  out  with  that  idiot  Hal  Jones, 
and  his  brother,  he  told  himself  furiously,  then  he 
had  better  let  her  go.  Anyway,  he  knew  just  where 
he  stood  with  her  now.  He  was  in  an  ungovernably 
bitter  mood.  .  .  . 

A  half  an  hour  later  he  flung  on  his  hat  and  coat 
and  took  a  taxi  down  to  Marly's  in  West  Forty- 
Eighth  Street;  he  would  try  bohemianism  as  an 
antidote  to  his  misery,  he  decided. 

Marly's  proved  to  be  unexpectedly  crowded, 
noisy,  thick  with  tobacco  smoke  and  the  odor  of 


8o  EREATH  OF  LIFE 

greasy  cooking;  in  a  far  corner  a  pathetic  orchestra 
was  grinding  out  "Madelon,"  and  several  convivial 
Frenchmen  were  singing  the  chorus.  Someone 
called  out  his  name,  and  at  the  table  next  to  his  he 
discovered  Bertwick,  Schaffer  and  O'Malley — all  of 
New  Haven.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  he 
would  probably  have  acknowledged  their  greeting 
with  a  formal  nod ;  they  were  none  too  popular,  these 
three ;  brainless,  coarse,  uninteresting  to  a  degree — 
always  getting  in  some  kind  of  ugly  mix  up  .  .  . 
he  had  rarely  troubled  to  associate  with  them  at  New 
Haven. 

Tonight,  however,  he  returned  their  greeting 
with  a  facetious  remark  and  drew  his  chair  up  to 
their  table,  untidily  crowded  with  half-empty  tum- 
blers. 

Bertwick's  breath  was  already  eloquent. 


11 


Margaret  did  not  like  cabarets;  after  the  novelty 
of  a  first  visit  they  bored  her.  Still,  since  Hal  Jones 
and  his  brother  proudly  announced,  as  they  left  the 
theatre,  that  they  had  succeeded  in  engaging  a  front 
row  table  at  the  Luxembourg  she  did  not  feel  it 
worth  her  while  to  protest — especially  as  Edith  Way 
was  the  other  girl  in  the  party.  Edith  frankly  said 
that  she  "adored'*  the  Luxembourg,  which  statement 
Margaret  found  typical.  Edith,  she  knew  was  un- 
able to  concentrate  her  attention  on  any  particular 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  8i 

subject  for  more  than  sixty  seconds,  and  the  flip- 
pantly vagrant  state  of  mind  desirable  to  such  parties 
suited  her  immensely;  she  had,  moreover,  a  certain 
cleverly  assumed  and  wholly  artificial  enthusiasm 
which  her  friends  referred  to  as  "pep." 

Margaret's  air  of  polite  resignation  cast  a  subtle 
damper  over  the  others;  conversation,  after  several 
fox  trots  and  orangeades,  waned.  She  ventured  to 
glance  at  her  black-ribboned  wrist  watch ;  Hal  Jones 
frowned,  and  ordered  more  orangeades. 

At  midnight  the  myriad  electric  globes  in  the  oval 
dome  of  the  room  were  suddenly  extinguished,  to 
the  insistent  rolling  of  a  drum ;  the  babble  of  voices 
from  a  hundred  tables  dropped,  simultaneously,  to 
a  confused  murmur.  An  oblique,  shifting  ray  of 
silver  light  descended  from  the  dome,  picked  out 
from  the  darkness  and  silhouetted  the  figures  of  a 
man  and  a  girl  in  the  centre  of  the  dancing  floor ; 
they  bowed.  The  orchestra  commenced  a  rhyth- 
mical tango.  .  .  . 

From  the  blackness  somewhere  behind  Margaret's 
chair  came  the  sound  of  muttering  voices,  the  shift- 
ing of  chairs,  the  subdued,  polite  whisperings  of  a 
waiter.  There  had  been  an  empty  table  in  that 
direction,  she  remembered,  when  they  had  arrived 
half  an  hour  before.  The  voices,  now  above  a 
whisper,  were  distinctly  truculent. 

"More  arrivals,"  she  said;  and  added  casually, 
"They  make  an  awful  noise.    One  would  think " 

"You've  got  to  expect  that  kind  of  thing,"  Hal 


82  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Jones'  eighteen-year-old  brother  cut  in  importantly, 
**at  places  like  this/' 

Margaret,  unseen  in  the  darkness,  shrugged  her 
shoulders;  turned  her  attention  negligently  to  the 
pirouetting  dancers. 

The  performance  was  presently  over,  and  the 
lights  were  turned  on;  for  a  moment  she  blinked 
in  the  sudden  glare,  then  glanced  toward  the  new- 
comers at  the  adjoining  table.  There  were  four 
men — not  in  evening  clothes ;  she  wondered  vaguely 
as  to  why  they  had  been  let  in  to  the  Luxembourg; 
their  heads  were  tousled,  their  faces  hectically 
flushed.  One  of  them,  his  back  to  her,  swayed 
slightly  in  his  chair;  he  called  loudly  for  a  waiter, 
at  the  same  time  turning  his  head — it  was  Everett 
Gail. 

His  half-opened,  bloodshot  eyes  rested  on  her 
vacantly  for  a  moment;  then,  at  the  recognition  of 
her,  color  ebbed  slowly  from  his  cheeks.  She 
turned  back  to  Hal  Jones  hurriedly,  and  attempted 
a  light,  bantering  conversation.  Evidently  he  had 
not  seen  Everett;  some  kind,  protective  instinct 
within  her  prayed  that  he  would  not.  She  feared 
there  might  be  trouble.  ... 

She  felt,  suddenly,  a  hand,  hot  and  dry,  resting 
upon  her  cool,  bare  shoulder,  and — ^terrified — heard 
Everett's  voice  saying  thickly : 

"Come  on  over  to  my  table — I  want  'talk  t'you." 

Hal  Jones  glanced  up  in  amazement;  pleadingly 
she  whispered  to  Everett: 


BREATH  OF  LIFE        »  83 

"Go  away,  Everett,  please.  Fll  call  you  up 
tomorrow/' 

He  came  round  to  the  side  of  her  chair;  shook 
his  head  doggedly.  A  lock  of  his  brown  hair  fell 
absurdly  over  his  moist  forehead.  Hal  Jones,  half 
rising,  spoke  up  sharply. 

*'Get  back  to  your  table,  Gail.  You're  not  in  a 
fit  condition  to  speak  to  Margaret." 

Margaret  turned  white.  Everett  swayed  for- 
ward, lunged  at  Hal  Jones  with  an  open  palm — 
missed  him.  Two  waiters,  chattering  in  Italian, 
dragged  Everett  away.  A  party  at  the  next  table 
began  whispering  excitedly.  The  orchestra  struck 
up  a  fox  trot  and  mercifully  drowned  Everett's 
loud  but  ineffectual  protests  as  he  was  escorted 
from  the  room.  Bertwick,  Schaffer  and  O'Malley 
slunk  shamefacedly  after  him. 

Margaret,  lips  quivering,  rose  from  her  chair. 

**I  think  I'll  go  home,"  she  said,  almost  inaudibly. 
"Will  you  get  the  car,  Hal?" 

Edith  Way  saw,  with  some  surprise,  that  her 
eyes  were  bright  with  tears. 

Ill 

Everett,  oppressed  by  an  overwhelming  sense 
of  calamity,  found  his  way  to  Bertwick's  car,  which 
had  been  parked  in  Forty-Sixth  Street  outside  the 
Luxembourg,  and  tumbled  into  it.  The  others  fol- 
lowed noisily. 


84  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

**Where'll  we  go  now?"  Bertwick  demanded. 
Schaffer,  whose  condition  was  appreciably  nearer 
normal  than  his  companions,  elected  to  drive  and 
took  his  seat  at  the  wheel. 

No  one  spoke  until  Everett,  unconsciously  voic- 
ing what  was  in  his  mind,  murmured: 

"Sick  of  ole  N*  York  ...  I  better  leave  the 
country  .  .  .  Europe  f'r'instance  ...  do  me  a 
world  of  good.  ..." 

This  struck  their  sense  of  humor;  they  bellowed. 
Then  Bertwick,  with  sudden  intoxicated  gravity, 
turned  to  Schaffer: 

"He  wants  to  go  to  Europe.  Schaffer,  d'you 
hear  me — take  Mr.  Gail  to  the  steamship — 
im-me-diately." 

Schaffer  threw  in  the  clutch,  and  they  shot  down 
Broadway  cheering  hoarsely.  At  Twenty-Third 
Street  they  veered  westward.  Everett  spoke  up 
mildly  as  they  jolted  over  the  car  tracks  at  Tenth 
Avenue. 

"Nice  of  you  fellows  to  see  me  off.  Remember 
this  all  my  life.     Assure  you." 

Schafifer,  vaguely  worried,  turned  down  West 
Street,  trundled  slowly  past  the  International  Mer- 
cantile piers  which  were,  one  and  all,  closed,  silent, 
and  in  darkness.  At  last  they  reached  a  dock, 
smaller  than  the  rest,  the  gates  of  which  were  wide 
open.  An  arc  light  was  sputtering  fiercely  by  the 
water's  edge,  and  they  could  hear  in  the  distance 
the  rattle  of  a  winch,  the  hiss  of  escaping  steam. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  85 

"Will  this  do?"  Schaffer  asked  nervously,  as  he 
applied  the  brakes.  It  was  slowly  dawning  upon 
him  that  there  was  something  preposterously  absurd 
about  the  whole  business.  .  .  .  Bertwick,  who  had 
apparently  taken  charge  of  the  proceedings,  stood 
Up  unsteadily;  he  was  determined  that  Everett 
should  embark  for  Europe  that  night;  Everett  had 
expressed  such  a  desire — and  he  was  a  good 
fellow.  .  .  .  Nothing  like  helping  a  friend  in  the 
hour  of  trouble. 

^'Here's  your  dock,"  he  said,  shaking  Everett. 
"Get  up!" 

Everett  with  unexpected  promptness,  climbed 
out  of  the  car,  swayed  a  little,  and  started  in  a  zig- 
zag course  toward  the  pier. 

"Farewell,"  he  called  back  sadly,  and  a  sudden 
hush  fell  upon  the  others. 

There  was  a  night  watchman  pacing  to  and  fro 
on  West  Street.  With  instinctive  cunning  Everett 
waited  until  the  man's  back  was  turned,  then  passed 
solemnly  through  the  gates.  The  pier,  in  semi- 
darkness,  was  crowded  with  strange,  fantastic  shapes 
that  loomed  up  eerily  from  the  shadows;  gigantic 
pyramids  of  cargo  waiting  to  be  loaded.  At  the 
harbor  end  of  the  dock  he  heard  vague,  indistinct 
voices.  Through  an  open  steel  door  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  snowflakes  whirling  grayly  down  upon 
a  placid  stretch  of  water  that  glimmered  in  the  un- 
certain rays  of  an  arc  light. 

Of    a    sudden    he    stumbled    upon    a    gangway. 


86  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

leading  steeply  upwards  into  impenetrable  dark- 
ness. 

"Leaving  for  Europe,"  he  murmured.  "Middle 
of  the  night  .  .  .  and  nobody  cares." 

The  idea  was  pleasantly  pathetic;  he  was  on 
the  verge  of  tears. 

His  progress  up  the  gangway  was  slow  and 
cautious;  five  minutes,  perhaps,  elapsed  before  he 
reached  the  top  and  found  himself  in  the  midst  of 
a  forlorn  open  space  that  was  intensely  dark — and 
bitterly  cold.  A  few  yards  ahead  of  him  he  could 
discern  a  circular  yellow  light,  gleaming  through 
thick,  misty  glass.  He  attempted  to  make  his  way 
towards  it.  His  foot  tripped  upon  some  unseen 
object;  he  fell — lay  there,  inert.  ... 


Bert  wick  was  the  first  of  the  trio  to  awake  the 
following  day.  They  had  found  their  way,  some- 
how, to  an  obscure  hotel  in  Seventh  Avenue;  the 
three  of  them  were  in  one  room.  Outside  the  sun 
was  shining  brightly,  and  he  heard  the  monotonous 
roar  of  passing  traffic.  Fragmentary  recollections 
of  what  had  occurred  the  night  before  lazily  pene- 
trated his  mind;  he  shook  Schaffer  at  his  side  and 
woke  him. 

"Where's  Everett  Gail?"  he  demanded. 

"Gone  to  Europe,"  said  Schaffer  promptly,  and 
rolled  over  to  sleep  some  more. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  87 

Bertwick  grew  uneasy;  his  mind  began  to  work 
with  increasing  rapidity.  He  crossed  the  room  and 
consulted  a  telephone  book  hanging  on  the  wall; 
presently  he  found  Everett's  number,  and  lifted  up 
the  receiver.  Three  minutes  passed  before  he  could 
get  an  answer,  and  then  he  heard  a  blurred,  distant 
voice,  fretfully  impatient: 

"Hullo — ^hullo.  Yes — this  is  Mr.  John  Gail's 
house.     What  do  you   wish?'* 

It  was  old  Brixton,  the  butler.  Bertwick  hesi- 
tated; he  must  be  careful,  diplomatic.  He  didn't 
want  to  be  involved  in  any  trouble  with  Gail 
senior — ^terrible  men,  these  lawyers. 

*This  is  a  friend  of  Mr.  Everett  Gail.  I'd  like 
to  speak  to  him." 

The  answer  came  back  with  almost  terrifying 
promptness. 

"Mr.  Everett  has  not  been  in  the  house  since  he 
left  at  eight  o'clock  last  night." 

A  new  thought  invaded  Bertwick's  mind. 

"What  time  is  it  now,  by  the  way?" 

"Half  past  three,  sir." 

Aghast,  Bertwick  hung  up  the  receiver. 


Book  II 


89 


CHAPTER  I 


Everett  roused  himself  with  a  shiver,  his 
numbed  consciousness  penetrated  by  the  knowledge 
that  something — something  icily  cold — was  trick- 
ling slowly,  insistently  down  his  cheek;  his  body, 
at  the  same  time,  seemed  to  be  a  mass  of  aches ;  his 
head,  he  felt,  was  spinning  round  and  round.  .  .  . 
With  an  effort  he  opened  his  eyes;  closed  them 
hurriedly,  momentarily  blinded  by  the  glare  of  an 
intense  daylight.  He  waited  for  a  minute  or  two, 
supremely  conscious  of  a  growing  sense  of  nausea, 
then  tried  again — this  time  with  slightly  more  suc- 
cess; his  vision  was  confronted  unexpectedly  with 
a  series  of  thin  parallel  lines — lines,  lines,  stretching 
straight  as  a  die  into  distance,  where  they  melted 
in  a  hazy  obscurity.  His  feeling  of  sickness  gave 
way  to  a  temporary  bewilderment.  He  tried  hard 
to  think;  couldn't  remember  any  lines  like  that  in 
his  bedroom  .  .  .  ridiculous  lines.  .  .  . 

He  came  to  the  conclusion,  presently,  that  he  was 
lying  upon  some  kind  of  floor;  that  the  lines  were 
formed  by  the  intersection  of  planks  that  formed 

91 


92  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

the  floor.  Raising  his  head  slowly  he  glanced  up- 
ward, and  discovered  another  astonishing  thing — 
a  vast,  impenetrable  wall  painted  white,  and  con- 
structed apparently,  of  steel;  in  the  very  centre  of 
the  wall  there  was  an  absurd  little  circular  window, 
bound  in  brass. 

In  a  sudden  access  of  terror  he  scrambled  to  his 
feet.  The  stupendous  truth  dawned  upon  him. 
He  was  on  the  deck  of  a  ship. 

He  brushed  the  damp  tousled  locks  of  his  hair 
impatiently  from  his  eyes;  took  a  careful  step  for- 
ward. In  the  wave  of  comprehension  that  swept 
over  him  surrounding  objects  swiftly  assumed  their 
normal  aspect ;  the  immense  white  wall,  as  his  vision 
clarified,  proved  to  be  merely  part  of  the  ship's 
superstructure,  the  after-end  of  a  deck  house.  He 
staggered  to  the  taffrail,  widened  his  eyes  to  the 
merciless  glare,  and  gazed  astern.  Sea  confronted 
him,  everywhere;  a  gray,  tumbling  waste  of  waters 
that  stretched  for  seeming  miles  and  miles,  to  a 
colorless,  see-sawing  horizon;  the  whole  world  was 
rising  and  falling  madly  about  him. 

He  became,  very  soon,  violently  sick. 

Somehow,  he  found  his  way  to  a  capstan,  and 
leaned  against  it,  unutterably  dizzy.  He  closed 
his  eyes,  heedless  of  the  opaque  sheets  of  spray 
that  came  dashing  now  and  again  over  the  taflF- 
rail,  suffusing  him  with  a  salty,  tingling  shower. 

He  became  aware,  suddenly,  of  someone  standing 
near  him.    He  opened  his  eyes;  found  himself  face 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  93 

to  face  with  a  veritable  giant  of  a  man,  a  hatless 
giant  whose  unruly,  steel-gray  hair  was  tossed 
about  by  the  wind;  the  sleeves  of  his  thick  blue 
sweater,  rolled  up  to  the  elbows,  revealed  a  pair 
of  enormous  arms,  mahogany-colored  and  ribbed 
with  muscle.  He  stood  regarding  Everett  with 
bright,  humorous  gray  eyes,  an  expression  of  toler- 
ant good  nature  upon  his  large,  weather-beaten  face. 

"Where  am  I ?"  Everett  asked;  and  his  own  voice 
sounded  to  him  queerly  weak  and  far  away. 

The  stranger  placed  his  hands  upon  his  hips; 
answered  with  a  counter  question. 

"And  how  in  the  devil's  name  did  ye  come 
here?" 

Everett  shook  his  head  feebly. 

"I  don't  know — last  thing  I  remember  was  a 
row  of  some  kind,  in  a  restaurant  uptown." 

The  big  man  actually  laughed,  a  throaty  laugh 
that  made  his  red  face  turn  even  a  shade  redder 
and  shook  the  whole  of  his  hulking  body. 

"How  far  are  we  going?"  Everett  demanded 
unsteadily,  making  another  pitiful  effort  to  fix  his 
eyes  upon  the  leaping,  slate-colored  horizon. 
"—Boston?" 

Again  the  giant  laughed;  then  stopped  short, 
his  brow  corrugated  by  a  sudden  frown. 

"Hell,  no!— We're  bound  for  the  Caribbean." 

Vaguely  frightened  now,  Everett  asked: 

"Of  course  you'll — get  me  back  to  New  York 
somehow  ?" 


94  BgEATH  OF  LIFE 

The  other  shook  his  head  decisively. 

**rve  no  knowing  how  ye  got  here,  but  I  do 
know  that  now  ye're  here  with  us  ye'll  stick.  We've 
left  New  York  some  ten  hours  already,  and  we're 
some  hundred  odd  knots  south  o'  it.  — We  should 
be  picking  up  Hatteras  after  nightfall." 

Another  man  appeared  at  that  moment,  a  stocky 
little  man,  with  a  close-clipped  russet  beard  and  a 
sallow,   mournful    face. 

"Cap'n,"  the  giant  announced,  stepping  aside  with 
a  surprising  show  of  deference,  "I  just  found  this 
young  feller  aboard — a,  stowaway,  most  likely." 

Everett  attempted  to  say  something  in  his  own 
defence,  but  the  newcomer  silenced  him  with  a 
piercing  glance. 

"What's  your  name,  boy?"   he  demanded. 

''Everett   Gail— sir." 

The  **sir"  slipped  out  because  he  couldn't  help  it; 
the  little  man  seemed,  somehow,  to  demand  the 
courtesy. 

"How  did  you  come  aboard  my  ship?" 

"I^ — I  can't  remember,  sir." 

The  Captain  nodded  several  times  to  himself; 
began  to  stroke  his  beard  thoughtfully. 

"Drunk — of  course.    You  look  it." 

Then,  reaching  a  decision  with  an  altogether 
astonishing  quickness,  he  added  crisply: 

"You'll  have  to  get  to  work;  I've  no  room  aboard 
for  loafers.  You  happen  to  be  civil,  so  there'll  be 
no  need  for  irons  at  present — I'm  short  of  hands, 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  95 

too.     — Do  the  work  that's  given  you  and  there'll 
probably  be  no  trouble." 

He  continued  to  survey  Everett  for  a  moment 
with  a  look  of  mild  contempt;  then  turned  to  the 
big  man  at  his  side. 

**Mallory.  You'll  take  the  lad  aft  and  give  him 
dunnage;  he'll  be  needing  a  kit  to  work  in.  Then 
use  him  as  you  see  fit — odd  jobs  on  deck.  And 
if  he  needs  food  show  him  where  the  galley  is." 

"Thank  you,"  Everett  blurted  out,  almost  in- 
voluntarily. He  felt  grateful  and,  at  the  same 
time,   infinitely   relieved. 

*'Don't  thank  me,"  the  Captain  retorted.  ''You've 
got  to  be  fit  before  you  work — that's  to  my  advan- 
tage as  much  as  yours." 

He  turned  on  his  heels  and  strolled  away  with  a 
peculiar  rolling  gait  that  caused  his  rotund  body 
to  oscillate  from  side  to  side. 

"Huh!"  said  Mallory,  staring  after  him.  "Ye 
caught  him  in  good  humor — lucky  for  you.  He 
sure  let  ye  off  easy.  The  last  stowaway  we  had 
aboard  told  the  Cap'n  he  wouldn't  work,  but  the 
old  man  wasn't  standin'  for  any  sass  .  .  .  had  him 
squirmin'   on  his  knees   in   a  jiffy " 

He  chuckled  reminiscently ;  added: 

"Come  aft  and  we'll  get  your  dunnage." 

Everett  followed  as  best  he  could,  stumbled  over 
strewn  pieces  of  deck  tackle,  blocks  and  cleats; 
slipping  awkwardly  upon  the  greasy  sheen  of  the 
boards.      He    glanced    upwards,    fearfully,    at    the 


96  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

swaying  masthead,  the  squat  red  funnel  amidships 
that  was  wreathed  in  a  swirling  halo  of  acrid  yel- 
low smoke.  Astern  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a 
chalky  wake  curving  in  a  gentle  arc  toward  the  far 
horizon;  seagulls,  too,  hovering  above  the  stern, 
screeching  plaintively  as  they  circled  in  the  slate- 
colored  sky. 

Mallory  led  the  way  down  a  steep  ladder  to  a 
dark,  evil-smelling  storeroom.  He  kicked  open  the 
recalcitrant  door  of  a  locker. 

*This  ship  is  the  Adventurer,"  he  volunteered, 
as  he  hurriedly  threw  him  a  suit  of  dungarees  and 
a  coarse  sweater.  ** She's  bound  for  Vancouver  via 
Panama,  and  she  carries  a  mixed  cargo.  We'll  be 
cruisin'  about  the  West  Indies  for  a  month  or  two 
afore  we  make  Colon;  so  you'd  best  make  yourself 
at  home." 

He  took  Everett,  presently,  to  the  forward  well 
deck;  supplied  him  with  hammer  and  nails  to  mend 
a  strip  of  broken  hatch  coaming.  Everett  fell  to 
work  with  a  certain  listless  determination.  The 
hours,  he  discovered,  dragged  by  with  incredible 
slowness.  ...  To  his  feeling  of  physical  sickness 
there  became  added  a  sudden  profundity  of 
depression. 

II 

The  crew  of  the  Adventurer,  he  soon  learned, 
were  a  mixed  lot,  gathered  from  many  ports  dur- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  97 

ing  the  ship's  gypsy  career.  Of  them  all  he  preferred 
by  far — and  trusted  only — Mallory,  the  First 
Mate — a  man  of  composite  nationality  who  had 
Irish  and  Swedish  blood  in  his  veins  and  a  good 
share  of  Yankee  common  sense.  The  Second  Mate, 
Otto  Schnazel  by  name,  was  a  sullen,  flaxen-haired, 
pallid  little  man  who  eyed  Everett  with  a  supreme 
contempt  which  he  did  not  trouble  to  conceal.  Had 
Schnazel  been  in  Mallory's  place  Everett  felt  that 
things  would  have  fared  badly  indeed  with  him.  As 
it  was,  Mallory  ruled  the  deck  with  a  certain  crude, 
impartial  justice  which  gave  no  cause  for  complaint. 
It  was  not  Everett's  fault  that  by  the  end  of  his 
first  day  aboard  the  Adventurer  he  had  exchanged 
words  with  no  one  but  Mallory;  he  had,  he  realized, 
little  of  the  snob  within  him — was  willing,  even 
anxious  to  be  on  good  terms  with  the  crew;  yet 
the  majority  of  them  seemed  instinctively  to  avoid 
him — under  Schnazel's  leadership,  he  later  on  dis- 
covered. During  the  midday  meal  they  regarded 
him  distrustfully,  conversed  in  low,  monotonous 
tones  so  that  he  could  not  hear  what  they  were  say- 
ing. Being  supremely  self-conscious  at  the  moment 
he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  they  were  discussing 
him,  and  felt  considerably  ill  at  ease. 

The  abrupt  transition  to  this  new  and  remarkable 
phase  in  his  life  affected  him  keenly.  He  walked 
about  the  ship  as  if  in  a  dream;  it  seemed  in- 
credible— absurd,  for  him  to  be  there;  he  protested 
to  himself  in  vain  that  such  things  didn't  happen  in 


98  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

real  life.  .  .  .  Catching  a  glimpse  of  himself  in 
a  cracked  fragment  of  mirror  hanging  on  the  galley 
door,  he  received  a  distinct  shock.  He  looked  pale 
and  weak,  and  utterly  miserable;  his  clothes  were 
many  sizes  too  big  for  him,  giving  him  the  appear- 
ance of  some  grotesque  caricature  of  a  sailor.  An- 
other siege  of  depression  followed  this  discovery. 

During  the  afternoon  he  was  set  to  work  polish- 
ing brasses  on  the  flying  bridge,  which  he  kept  up 
doggedly  until  his  back  seemed  to  be  splitting  and 
his  fingers  were  actually  numb.  At  five  o'clock  the 
sun  burst  out  from  behind  a  veil  of  scudding  clouds 
and  transformed  the  neutral-colored  sea  into  a 
glittering  expanse  of  blue;  the  golden  warmth  of 
the  sunshine  brought  sudden  new  life  to  his  chilled, 
aching  body;  sent  the  blood  racing  once  more 
through  his  veins.  The  ship  seemed,  all  at  once, 
a  brighter  and  cleaner  thing.  An  indomitable, 
youthful  optimism  gradually  conquered  his  misery, 
enabled  him  to  contemplate  his  position  with  a  more 
philosophic  calm.    He  began  to  make  plans.  .  .  . 

He  would  stay  aboard  the  Adventurer  for  a 
month,  perhaps  two,  while  she  slipped  from  island 
to  island  in  the  Caribbean;  he  would  work  himself 
into  a  superb  condition  of  physical  vigor,  and 
ultimately  return  to  New  York  ready  to  tackle  the 
first  job  that  came  his  way.  Then  there  was  Mar- 
garet— ^he  would  write  her  an  apologetic  letter;  he 
owed  her  that ;  and  he  knew  that  she  would  be  for- 
giving. .  .  .     This  would  be  a  magnificent  adven- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  99 

ture,  after  all,  he  told  himself;  and  in  his  growing 
enthusiasm  it  never  occurred  to  him  that  anything 
might  happen  to  frustrate  his  plans ;  throughout  his 
twenty-two  years  of  existence  he  had,  it  so  hap- 
pened, been  thoroughly  accustomed  to  having  things 
pretty  much  his  own  way. 

After  a  supper  of  tepid  coffee  and  canned  fish, 
which  he  ate  with  a  sudden  reversion  to  his  former 
appetite  that  made  the  rest  of  the  crew  gape,  he 
found  his  way  to  the  bunk  room,  a  low-beamed 
place  that  reeked  of  oil  and  tar,  and  that  inde- 
scribable smell  of  an  old,  old  ship.  There,  under  the 
murky,  orange  glow  of  a  swaying  oil  lamp  he  curled 
up  on  the  mattress  Mallory  had  provided  for  him 
and  fell  swiftly  into  a  deep,  untrammelled  sleep. 


CHAPTER  II 


A  FEW  days  later,  about  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  Margaret  Blair  was  summoned  to  the 
telephone  in  her  house;  it  proved  to  be  Mrs.  Gail, 
who  enquired  plaintively  whether  she  had  seen 
Everett  "lately."  Margaret  frowned,  surrendered 
herself  to  a  moment's  quick  thinking;  then  said 
calmly : 

"Not  since  Saturday  night,  Mrs.  Gail." 

She  hoped  that  would  be  sufficient,  but  Mrs.  Gail 
droned  on  with  pathetic  persistence.  Where  had 
Margaret  seen  Everett,  and  at  what  time?  She 
wished,  in  fact,  to  have  all  the  details.  .  .  .  The 
memory  of  that  night  lingered  bitterly  in  Margaret's 
mind,  but  she  determined,  with  instinctive  loyalty, 
to  shield  him. 

"He  was  with  some  friends,  Mrs.  Gail — men  I 
did  not  know.  They  left  the  place  before  we  did. 
I'm  sorry,  but  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea  where 
they  went,  or  where  he  is  now.  Oh,  I  do  hope 
you're  not  worried,  etc.,  etc.  .  .  ." 

Mrs.  Gail  thanked  her  in  a  perfunctory  manner 
and  hung  up. 

100 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  loi 

Three  more  days  passed — ^and  then  Margaret"  *' 
became  worried.  Her  first  thought  had  been  that 
Everett,  conventionally  ashamed  of  what  had  hap- 
pened at  the  Luxembourg,  had  decided  to  keep 
away  from  her  until  she  let  him  know,  by  some 
means  or  other,  that  he  was  forgiven ;  this,  she  con- 
cluded, would  be  typical  of  him  in  a  mood  of 
repentance — and  she  was  quite  ready  to  forgive. 
After  all,  she  thought,  he  had  wanted  desperately, 
for  some  reason  unknown  to  her,  to  see  her  that 
night;  his  insistence  at  the  telephone  had  been 
amazing  .  .  .  the  stupid  revel  which  had  followed 
had  been,  perhaps,  the  outcome  of  his  disappoint- 
ment. She  knew — or  thought  she  knew — Everett's 
character  fairly  well  by  now;  was,  indeed, 
thoroughly  familiar  with  his  alternate  and  swift- 
changing  moods  of  optimism  and  despair.  And  so, 
in  the  mingled  generosity  and  egotism  of  her  youth- 
ful heart  she  sat  down  and  penned  him  a  demure 
little  note,  telling  him  that  he  had  better  come  and 
see  her  very  soon. 

No  answer  came.  She  was,  at  first,  piqued ;  then 
deeply  hurt.    Her  young  pride  was  torn  to  shreds. 

At  a  dance  the  following  Saturday  someone 
chanced  to  introduce  Bertwick  to  her;  they  had 
supper  together,  and  conversation  drifted,  pleas- 
antly, to  mutual  friends — eventually  to  Everett. 
Over  the  coffee  Bertwick,  who  was  quick  to  detect 
her  more  than  ordinary  interest  in  Everett,  blurted 
out  the  whole  story. 


102  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

'  '**And  we  went  down  to  the  dock  the  following 
afternoon,"  he  told  her,  "but  the  ship — some  dinky 
little  freighter — had  sailed  for  the  West  Indies. 
He'll  be  all  right,  though.  Probably  he'll  have  a 
wonderful  time — he'd  like  that  kind  of  thing." 

Margaret  listened,  frozen  to  a  white  fear,  hands 
clenched  tightly  beneath  the  supper  table. 

"You're  positive  that  he  went  on  board — and  yet 
you  didn't  try  to  stop  him?"  she  demanded. 

Bertwick  flushed  nervously. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  know — but  Schaffer, 
who  seems  to  remember  more  details,  swears  that 
he  saw  him  going  up  the  gangway." 

Had  Margaret  lived  ten  years  before  her  time 
she  might  well  have  attempted  to  deceive  Bertwick 
as  to  the  true  state  of  her  feelings ;  a  nameless  pride 
would,  perhaps,  have  prevented  her  from  revealing 
the  fear  that  gripped  her  heart.  As  it  was,  she 
turned  on  him  in  a  sudden  fiery  little  outburst  of 
anger;  he  was  smiling  complacently,  and  that  in- 
furiated her. 

"If  he  never  comes  back,"  she  said,  "you'll  be 
responsible.  I  should  think  that  the  three  of  3^ou, 
in  spite  of  your  muddled  brains,  would  have  had 
enough  sense  to  get  him  off  that  ship —  Oh,  but  I 
wish  he'd  never  met  you  that  night  .  .  .  just  be- 
cause he  was  amiable,  tolerant,  easy-going,  you 
dragged  him  down  with  you.  And  now  you're 
laughing  about  it,  when  he  might  be  dead  for  all 
you  know!" 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  103 

She  rose  from  her  chair  and  hurried  from  the 
supper  table,  leaving  him  to  stare  after  her  in 
stricken  amazement.  But,  because  she  had  been 
steeled,  in  her  age,  to  play  the  game,  she  remained 
at  the  dance  until  after  three,  outwardly  flippant 
and  gay,  in  her  heart  knowing  that  she  longed  for 
Everett  as  she  had  never  longed  for  anyone  before; 
and  there  was  a  novel,  bittersweet  joy  in  the 
realization. 

II 

The  influence  that  Schnazel  exercised  over  the 
Adventurer's  crew  had  all  the  subtlety  of  well- 
planned  propaganda.  Surreptitiously  he  dropped 
a  remark  here  and  there  concerning  Everett,  insin- 
uating gently  that  he  was  arrogant  and  considered 
himself  above  the  rest.  The  crew,  limited  in 
analytical  powers  of  their  own,  took  what  Schnazel 
said  for  granted — with  the  result  that  by  the  third 
day  out  Everett  knew  he  had  not  a  friend  aboard 
the  ship,  except  Mallory.  At  the  same  time  Mallory 
fell  ill  from  ptomaine  poisoning,  and  writhed  in  his 
bunk  with  a  temperature  of  one  hundred  and  four. 
There  was  no  doctor  aboard,  and  the  crew's  well- 
meaning  efforts  at  the  bedside  with  a  kit  of  old- 
fashioned  remedies  were,  at  best,  clumsy  and 
haphazard. 

Schnazel  took  Mallory 's  place  as  First  Mate;  he 
got  the  daily  work  done — there  was  no  denying 


104  JBREATH  OF  LIFE 

that — ^but  at  a  price.  The  good-natured,  easy-going 
spirit  of  the  crew  gave  way  to  frowns,  sullen  looks, 
subdued  profanity.  At  night  men  tumbled  in  their 
bunks  worn  out  with  fatigue,  or  sought  to  drown 
their  troubles  in  fiery  stuff  from  furtive  bottles ;  the 
Captain  was  unaware  of  the  change,  Everett  knew, 
for  the  reason  that  Schnazel  was  a  fawning  hypo- 
crite before  superiors.  Observing  the  new  order 
Everett  realized,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  essential  differ- 
ence between  Anglo-Saxon  and  Teuton  methods  of 
gettings  things  accomplished.  .  .  . 

On  the  fourth  day  out  they  ran  into  a  south- 
westerly gale  and  he  learned,  for  the  first  time,  the 
true  hardships  of  the  sea.  The  day  dawned  gray 
and  raw;  the  Adventurer  seemed  to  have  lost  what 
little  power  she  had;  to  have  become  a  passive, 
buffeted  fragment  in  an  incredible  vastness  of  sea 
and  sky.  The  horizon,  flashing  into  view  inter- 
mittently above  the  lathery  turmoil  of  waters,  van- 
ished abruptly  as  the  ship  plunged  her  nose  into  the 
swirling  trough,  slid  down  giddily  into  green 
chasms  of  spume  and  smother,  while  her  propeller 
raced  helplessly  in  midair  and  her  stem  quivered 
like  some  living,  frightened  thing.  .  .  .  After  the 
plunge,  another  trembling  climb  to  the  next  of  the 
endless  crests,  only  to  plunge  again.  .  .  . 

Everett  was  on  deck  from  sunup  until  sundown, 
his  body  bent  to  the  shrilling  gale  as  he  worked. 
Time  and  again,  opaqued,  pinnacled  mountains  of 
gray-green  water  dashed  over  the  flying  bridge, 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  105 

broke  in  impotent  rage,  and  ran  in  gurgling  torrents 
down  the  scuppers.  The  crew  wore  rubber  boots, 
staggered  and  slipped,  cursed  as  they  went  about 
their  appointed  tasks. 

Everett  became  grim  and  silent — inured.  Har- 
assed hours  such  as  these  permitted  no  time  for 
indulging  in  thoughts  upon  the  past  or  future.  Life 
resolved  itself  into  an  elementary  problem;  that  of 
maintaining  a  precarious  foothold  upon  a  plunging, 
reeling  world. 

Throughout  the  dark  hours  the  Adventurer 
wallowed  drunkenly  in  the  trough  of  the  storm, 
until  a  copper-tinted  dawn  put  an  end  to  the  black 
foulness  of  the  night.  Mallory  died  just  before  the 
sun  climbed  above  the  horizon. 

At  noon  the  ship  was  stopped,  and  Mallory  was 
buried  while  the  crew  stood  bare-headed  and  sullen 
in  a  pathetic  little  group  upon  the  after  well  deck. 
Days  passed  before  Everett  could  quite  obliterate 
from  his  memory  that  picture  of  the  dreary  deck 
with  its  closely-battened  hatches  and  rusty  tackle, 
the  knot  of  men  gathered  silently  about  the 
tarpaulin-shrouded  form.  Someone  read  a  prayer 
aloud  in  a  perfunctory,  stumbling  manner;  the  re- 
mains were  lowered,  sank  beneath  the  waves;  up 
forward  the  telegraph  bell  rang  shrilly;  the  engines 
throbbed  once  more.  Life  and  death,  so  remote 
from  each  other,  yet  so  closely  interwoven.  .  .  . 

Schnazel  was  confirmed  as  First  Mate. 

At  four  bells  in  the  afternoon  of  the  following 


io6  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

day,  which  dawned  bright  and  clear,  Everett  and 
two  others  of  the  crew  were  put  to  work  to  holy- 
stone the  decks. 

He  had  nearly  completed  his  task  when  he  became 
aware  of  Schnazel  and  the  new  Second  Mate,  a 
square-headed  Swede  named  Bergstrom,  standing 
at  the  taff rail  a  few  yards  away  from  where  he  was 
toiling  on  hands  and  knees.  The  afternoon  was 
sunny,  with  a  new,  springlike  touch  to  the  air — and 
Schnazel  was,  apparently,  in  a  good  humor ;  Everett 
heard  him  laughing  gutturally  with  the  Swede,  and 
saw  him  take  from  his  pocket  a  cube  of  chewing 
tobacco. 

Suddenly,  across  the  white  expanse  of  deck 
not  three  feet  from  where  he  was  working,  there 
shot  a  liquid  brown  stream.  He  glanced  up, 
frowning. 

*TVe  just  cleaned  that  space,'*  he  protested 
mildly.  Schnazel,  to  his  surprise,  stepped  up 
quickly  to  him. 

"What's  that  you  say?" 

"I  said,"  Everett  repeated,  flushing,  "that  I've 
just   finished  scrubbing.     There'll   be   inspection." 

"Clean  it  up  again,"  said  Schnazel,  and  spat  once 
more. 

Everett  jumped  to  his  feet ;  threw  down  his  scrub- 
bing brush. 

"You  can  clean  up  your  own  mess!"  he  shouted, 
vibrant  with  anger. 

The  next  moment  he   found  himself  lying  flat 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  107 

on  the  deck,  Schnazel  leering  down  at  him.  He 
picked  himself  up,  dazed.  Schnazel  immediately 
sent  him  below — ^to  do  what  was  considered  the 
meanest  task  on  the  ship. 

He  reappeared  on  deck  an  hour  later,  pale,  but 
still  defiant. 

"Had  enough?**  Schnazel  asked,  as  he  entered 
the  bunk  room ;  the  others  looked  on  in  silence. 

Everett  shook  his  head. 

"Fm  not  broken  yet,"  he  muttered. 

Schnazel  nodded  to  himself;  rubbed  his  fat  hands. 

"Good.  You'll  take  on  the  second  watch 
tonight.*' 

Although  he  was  totally  unconscious  of  it, 
Everett  had  risen  considerably  in  Schnazel's  esti- 
mation; Schnazel  was  of  that  type  which  does  not 
appreciate  meekness  in  others.  When  Everett  had 
gone  he  whimpered  grudgingly  to  Bergstrom : 

"The  kid's  hard  to  beat.*' 

Ill 

The  night  watch  was  a  revelation  to  Everett.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  perhaps,  he  knew  night  as 
it  really  was;  he  was  acutely  aware  of  a  vast  uni- 
verse— tremendous,  unlimited  space,  unbroken  by 
sounds  or  signs  of  humanity.  .  .  .  Millions  and 
millions  of  stars  above  him;  stars  that  were  more 
vivid,  seemed  to  possess  a  more  imminent  cosmic 
significance  than  the  stars  he  had  known  at  home. 


io8  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

The  night  air  had  a  gentle  quality  of  warmth,  a 
languorous  softness.  He  began  to  comprehend  how 
men  came  to  love  the  sea,  and  sought  the  relief  it 
brought  them  from  the  thousand  and  one  in- 
quietudes of  life  ashore;  he  found  himself  look- 
ing back  on  the  crowded  past  with  a  curious  feeling 
of  disgust.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were  suddenly 
very  near  to  God  that  night.  .  .  . 

At  four  bells  the  Adventurer  entered  the  Mona 
Passage,  sailed  through  it,  and  came  into  the 
Caribbean  towards  dawn.  The  new  day  burst 
forth  in  a  perfect  triumph  of  gold  and  blue;  the 
sky  a  living  mass  of  turquoise  flecked  with  slow- 
moving,  fleecy  clouds.  The  pleasant  warmth  of 
early  morning  increased  to  a  throbbing,  breathless 
heat,  and  the  sea,  Everett  thought,  was  quite  the 
bluest  thing  he  had  ever  seen. 

Irregular  patches  of  golden-brown  seaweed 
appeared,  frequently,  on  the  crest  of  a  lazy  wave, 
and — now  and  then — the  silvery  flash  of  flying  fish 
skimming  through  the  sunlight  just  above  the  sur- 
face of  the  sea. 

At  the  noon  meal  Schnazel  volunteered  the  in- 
formation, to  a  general  audience,  that  the  Adven- 
turer would  put  into  the  harbor  of  Santa  Palma, 
at  the  island  of  Esperanza,  the  following  morning  to 
take  on  sugar;  after  that  she  would,  according  to 
plans,  touch  at  Fort  de  France,  Martinique. 

"How  long  will  we  be  at  Santa  Palma?"  Everett 
enquired  of  Bergstrom  who  was  sitting  next  to  him. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  109 

Schnazel  overheard  him;  leaned  across  the  table 
and  asked  morosely: 

"Why  such  questions?    Do  you  want  to  quit  us?** 

"I  guess  I  will,"  said  Everett,  unconscious  of 
the  trap  into  which  he  was  falling. 

Schnazel  flared  up  instantly. 

"By  God,  you  don't!  We  catch  you  trying  to 
get  away,  and  see  what  happens — huh  ?  You  come 
on  this  ship;  you  stick  here  till  we  get  back  to  the 
U-nited  States.     See?" 

"I'm  making  no  promises,"  Everett  said  doggedly. 

Schnazel  look  puzzled;  he  didn't  see  that 
promises  had  anything  to  do  with  the  matter,  and 
said  so.  A  man's  promise,  according  to  his  pre- 
cepts and  training,  wasn't  worth  a  tinker's  dam. 

"You're  a  queer  fellow,"  he  grunted,  as  he  stirred 
his  coffee. 


CHAPTER  III 


As  soon  as  he  awoke  in  the  bunk  room  the  next 
morning  Everett  was  aware  that  his  surroundings 
had  during  the  night  undergone  some  intangible 
change,  the  precise  nature  of  which  he  could  not 
immediately  grasp.  He  stood  up,  rubbing  his 
eyes,  and  discovered  that  the  bunk  room  was  al- 
ready deserted,  the  rough  brown  blankets  folded 
neatly  upon  the  mattresses.  Presently  there  reached 
his  ears  the  clatter  of  a  steam  winch  on  the  deck 
above  him,  and  a  prolonged  rattle  of  anchor  chains. 
He  realized  all  at  once  that  the  ship  was  no  longer 
in  motion,  and  the  disconcerting  immobility  of  the 
floor  beneath  his  feet,  after  seven  days  of  ceaseless, 
rhythmatic  rolling,  made  him  feel  curiously 
unsteady. 

He  dressed  hurriedly  and,  just  before  leaving 
the  room,  took  his  pocketbook  from  where  he  had 
carefully  hidden  it  beneath  his  mattress;  it  contained, 
he  knew,  exactly  one  hundred  dollars — ^the  most 
precious  hundred  dollars  he  had  ever  possessed. 
He  hastened  up  the  steep  ladder  to  the  deck,  and 
at  the  uppermost  step  halted  abruptly — spellbound. 

no 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  in 

He  had  come  upon  the  deck  during  that  brief 
silent  moment  that  precedes  dawn.  The  Adventurer 
was  lying  motionless  in  a  wide,  crescent-shaped 
harbor;  the  water  was  unrippled,  mirror-Hke,  veiled 
in  a  luminous  haze;  it  was,  he  thought,  as  if  the  ship 
were  floating,  pendulous,  in  air.  ...  In  the  east  a 
gray  sheen  was  spreading  across  the  sky  and  the 
horizon  appeared,  margined  with  the  faintest  per- 
ceptible crimson  glow.  At  the  tip  of  a  moss- 
covered  peninsula  that  jutted  seawards,  perhaps 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  east  of  the  ship,  he  could 
discern  dimly  the  frowning  bulk  of  an  ancient  Span- 
ish castle;  bastions  and  moats,  and  crenelated  walls, 
dark  and  crumbling  with  decay.  He  crossed  the 
deck  slowly  to  the  starboard  rail,  and  through  the 
gauze  of  mist  saw  Santa  Palma,  mystic  and  unreal 
in  the  glimmering  half-light  before  dawn . .  .  tinted 
houses  in  pastel  shades  of  red  and  blue  and  yellow, 
rising  terrace  upon  terrace  from  the  harbor's  edge ; 
church  towers  framing  massive  bells;  clustered 
palms  struggling  upwards  between  the  crowded 
houses  in  vivid  patches  of  green;  above  the  town 
a  curving  amphitheatre  of  wooded  slopes.  Over 
all  there  hung  a  profound  stillness. 

And  then,  suddenly,  the  sun  climbed  above  the 
sea;  the  veil  of  mist  vanished  with  magic  swiftness; 
day  came.  A  cart  rattled  across  the  cobblestoned 
quays  that  lined  the  water's  edge;  it  was  the  first 
land-made  sound  he  had  heard  in  a  week,  and  it 
was  like  music  to  his  ears.     An  instant  later  bells 


112  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

in  an  old  pink  cathedral  chimed  the  hour  of  seven; 
and  all  Santa  Palma  was  awake. 

A  dory  came  drifting  leisurely  across  the  harbor, 
and  as  it  neared  the  Adventurer  Everett  saw  that  it 
was  laden  to  the  gunwales  with  a  cargo  of  fruit; 
a  lean  bronze  man,  wearing  a  hat  of  soft-brimmed 
straw,  but  otherwise  practically  naked,  wielded  the 
sluggish  oars ;  Everett  thought  humorously  of  Adam 
in  a  panama.  .  .  .  The  craft  came  close  to  the 
Adventurer,  passed  impertinently  beneath  her  blunt 
bows. 

At  that  moment  Schnazel  loomed  up. 

"Go  forward,"  he  bellowed,  "and  get  to  work  at 

the    hatches.      You    ain't    here    for    your   

pleasure.'' 

A  wave  of  revulsion  swept  over  Everett;  the  ship 
was  all  at  once  a  prison;  he  detested  the  very  sight 
and  smell  of  her  decks.  He  speculated,  coolly,  upon 
his  obligations.  After  all,  he  had  paid  for  his  pas- 
sage— and  more — he  considered,  by  the  work  he  had 
done.  He  had  been  the  butt  of  Schnazel's  jests,  the 
target  for  his  ill-humor.  The  transaction  was  honor- 
ably completed,  he  decided.     They  were  now  quits. 

A  slow,  good-natured  smile  spread  over  his  face. 

"But  I'm  through  with  all  that,  Schnazel,"  he 
said,  and  kicked  off  his  shoes.  He  went  over  the 
taffrail  in  a  white  streak. 

The  plunge  was  less  of  a  shock  than  he  had  antici- 
pated; he  discovered  that  the  water  was  agreeably 
warm.     He  struck  out  for  the  dory,  scarcely  fifty 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  113 

yards  away,  confident  that  he  could  reach  it  easily 
in  spite  of  the  hindrance  of  his  clothes;  he  had  al- 
ways been  considered  a  fairly  good  swinner  at 
home. 

Behind  him,  aboard  the  Adventurer,  he  heard 
confused  shouting. 

Presently  he  was  alongside  the  dory;  he  gripped 
the  gunwale,  climbed  aboard,  and  fell  asprawl  in  the 
bows,  with  the  cargo  of  fruit  tumbling  madly  about 
him. 

**Mother  of  God!"  said  the  barquero,  and  stared 
at  him  as  if  he  were  some  mythological  figure  risen 
from  the  sea. 

Complex  events  were  to  be  the  ultimate  result  of 
Everett's  arrival  at  Santa  Palma — but,  as  it  hap- 
pened, only  a  nude  little  brown  boy  fishing  from  the 
end  of  a  jetty  saw  him  when  he  stepped  ashore,  bare- 
footed and  dripping,  and  he  was  far  too  intent  upon 
his  own  affairs  to  give  the  matter  any  attention. 

n 

He  basked  in  the  sun  upon  a  sea  wall  of  pressed 
shells  while  his  clothes  dried.  He  seemed  to  be  in 
a  new  world.  .  .  .  All  along  the  quay  native  bar- 
quantines  were  anchored,  so  close  together  that  he 
could  barely  glimpse  the  harbor  waters  through  a 
tangled  forest  of  masts  and  rigging  and  brown  sails. 
Men  were  gathering  in  little  groups  upon  the  cobble- 
stoned  space  of  the  Marina  before  him — lazy-look- 


114  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

ing  fellows  wearing  hats  of  soft  straw  and  linen 
suits  that  long  ago  had  been  white,  smoking  minute 
cigarillos  and  chatting  amiably  together. 

An  old  woman  with  a  wrinkled  face,  brown  as  a 
Brazil  nut,  lighted  a  charcoal  stove;  began  to  fry 
greasy  cakes  over  the  glimmering  flame.  There  ap- 
peared, too,  a  fruit-seller  carrying  an  enormous  bas- 
ket of  red  bananas  and  gray-green  mangos.  A  trio 
of  sweating  negroes,  limbs  gray  with  dust,  came 
presently  from  the  outskirts  of  the  town  leading 
produce-laden  mules.  The  quays  were  soon  alive, 
crowded  with  humanity;  he  saw  that  it  was  market 
day  in  Santa  Palma. 

Color  was  everywhere.  He  liked  especially  the 
pink  and  yellow  bandannas  of  the  market  women; 
their  gaudy  cotton  dresses.  In  the  jargon  of  voices 
which  for  a  while  bewildered  him  Spanish  predomi- 
nated, but  once  or  twice  he  heard  some  suave  negro 
gentleman  trying  to  strike  a  bargain  in  the  slurred, 
lisping  French  of  Martinique.  .  .  .  He  began,  sud- 
denly, to  feel  pangs  of  hunger.  As  he  slid  down 
from  his  perch  on  the  sea  wall  a  deep-throated  roar 
came  reverberating  across  the  harbor,  and  he  turned 
to  see  the  Adventurer  swinging  her  nose  seaward. 
Five  minutes  later  the  last  link  that  lay  between  him 
and  his  homeland  had  melted  away  in  the  sunlit  sea. 

He  breakfasted  pleasantly  enough  on  oranges, 
then  left  the  Marina  to  saunter  up  the  first  street  that 
came  into  view;  it  was  steep  and  narrow;  and  led, 
apparently,  to  the  upper  town.  Finding  the  sidewalks 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  115 

altogether  inadequate  he  followed  the  example  of 
other  pedestrians  and  trod  the  cobbles;  except  for 
the  market-bound  mule  herds  laden  with  sugar-cane 
there  was  little  traffic.  He  was  amused  by  the  more 
or  less  fantastic  names  of  the  open-fronted  shops 
that  lined  the  street — El  Rubi,  Las  Portas  del  Sol, 
El  Paraiso  .  .  .  gaudily  painted  little  places  display- 
ing, under  striped  awnings,  the  cheapest  kind  of 
merchandise. 

The  clamor  of  the  streets  was  incessant,  a  con- 
fused medley  of  jingling  mule  bells,  shouts  from  the 
muleteers,  melodious  cries  from  the  venders  of  coco- 
water  and  pastry  who  were  stationed  at  every  street 
comer.  And  over  the  whole  vivid  scene  the  sun 
shone,  dazzling,  pregnant  with  an  ever-increasing 
heat. 

He  came  eventually  to  a  park-like  space,  planted 
with  tamarind  trees — the  Plaza  Nacicnal  it  was 
called.  Beyond  the  trees  there  stood  a  large  but 
unpretentious  cream-colored  building,  which  he  later 
on  came  to  know  as  the  Intendenda,  the  hub  of 
Santa  Palma's  municipal  affairs.  And  a  little  far- 
ther on,  the  Cathedral,  its  pink  plaster  walls  flaked 
and  peeling  with  the  wear  of  centuries.  The  sun 
had,  by  this  time,  climbed  high  in  the  heavens,  was 
beating  down  upon  the  streets  with  a  merciless  in- 
tensity to  which  he  had  not  yet  become  acclimatized ; 
he  felt,  of  a  sudden,  unwontedly  weary,  and  it  was 
with  a  considerable  sense  of  relief  that  he  discovered 
a  public  bench  in  the  cool  shade  of  the  tamarinds. 


ii6  BREATH  OF  LIFE 


III 


He  was  not  alone  on  the  bench.  A  young  man 
was  there,  a  dapper  Uttle  man  clad  in  a  straw-colored 
pongee  suit,  mauve  shirt  and  collar,  white  tennis 
shoes;  his  face  was  bronzed,  clean-cut  intelligent- 
looking.  He  was  smoking  a  cigarette,  blowing  aloft 
an  occasional  smoke-ring  with  an  air  of  pleased  ac- 
complishment. After  a  while  he  tossed  the  cigarette 
away  and  allowed  his  dark  eyes  to  rest  on  Everett 
in  frank,  unconcealed  curiosity. 

It  occurred  to  Everett  for  the  first  time  that  morn- 
ing that  his  own  appearance  was  sufficiently  peculiar 
to  attract  attention;  he  had  forgotten  that  he  was 
still  wearing  his  makeshift  sailor  rig — the  rough  blue 
sweater  and  wide,  flapping  trousers;  moreover  his 
feet  were  bare,  and  he  was  hatless.  He  made  a 
mental  note  to  purchase  clothes  as  soon  as  possible, 
a  white  linen  suit  and  panama,  such  as  seemed  to  be 
the  almost  universal  costume  in  Santa  Palma.  Partly 
to  cover  his  confusion  at  the  stranger's  scrutiny  he 
tried  to  light  one  of  his  own  cigarettes,  but  both 
tobacco  and  matches  were  damp  and  useless.  Then, 
to  his  surprise,  a  gold  cigarette  case  was  thrust  be- 
fore him. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  and  helped  himself. 

"You  are  an  American?"  the  little  man  enquired 
presently,  in  English  with  an  accent  that  was  almost 
faultless. 

Everett  nodded.    In  a  spirit  of  caution  he  decided 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  117 

not  to  be  drawn  into  conversation  about  himself ;  but 
the  stranger  proved  to  be  unexpectedly  talkative, 
moved  closer  to  him. 

"And  how  do  you  like  Santa  Palma?" 

Everett  said  politely  that  it  was  a  beautiful  town, 
and  continued  to  puff  at  his  cigarette.  There  ensued 
several  minutes  of  silence,  until  it  dawned  upon  him 
that  here  at  least  was  an  opportunity  to  gain  some 
much-needed  information. 

"I'd  like  to  know,"  he  ventured,  "the  name  of  a 
good  hotel  in  Santa  Palma." 

The  other  hesitated  before  replying,  then  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"There  are  none  that  are  really  good —  However, 
I  shall  give  myself  pleasure  in  conducting  you  to 
one  that  is  clean  and  respectable.  Personal,  I  'ave 
never  lived  in  it,  though.  I,  myself,  am  residing 
with  Don  Jose  Rodriguez  at  the  Casa  Azul." 

This  latter  piece  of  information,  Everett  thought, 
was  volunteered  with  a  certain  inexplicable  show  of 
pride.  And  then,  as  he  said  nothing,  the  stranger 
repeated : 

"Don  Jose  Rodriguez — you  know  of  'im,  of 
course?  Everybody  in  Santa  Palma  knows  Don 
Jose." 

"I've  only  been  here  a  few  hours,"  Everett  ex- 
plained. 

"Ah!"  said  the  young  man.  "I  understand.  But 
before  long  you  will  doubtless  hear  much  of  this 
person." 


Ii8  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

He  rose  languidly  from  the  bench. 

''Come.  I  show  you  the  Hotel  Venus,  the  best  I 
know.  I  am  glad  to  be  of  the  assistance  to  you;  I 
like  Americans  because  they  are  progressive.  Don 
Jose  and  I,"  — he  tapped  his  chest  with  an  absurd 
gesture  of  importance — "stand  for  progress  in  this 
republic  of  Esperanza." 

He  led  the  way  up  a  precipitous,  narrow  street, 
and  after  five  minutes  walking  they  came  to  a  ram- 
bling old  wooden  building,  each  floor  of  which  was 
surrounded  by  a  wide,  shady  balcony. 

"That,"  said  the  young  man,  indicating  it  with  a 
slender,  bejewelled  hand,  "is  the  Hotel  Venus." 

He  bowed  ceremoniously,  and  went  on  his  way. 

In  this  informal  fashion  began  Everett's  strange 
acquaintance  with  Vlasco  Corcovado. 


CHAPTER  IV 


The  Hotel  Venus,  run  by  Madame  Baptiste,  an 
old  Frenchwoman  who  had  migrated  to  Santa  Palma 
from  Marseilles  years  before  Everett  was  born,  was 
quite  the  quaintest  place  he  had  ever  been  in.  His 
bedroom,  opening  upon  a  balcony  that  overlooked  a 
shady  garden  of  mango  trees,  had  no  windows — 
only  a  pair  of  shutters.  Blue  was  the  predominat- 
ing color  of  the  hotel;  the  rickety  iron  cot  in  the 
corner  of  his  room  was  painted  blue ;  the  walls  were 
tinted  a  delicate  azure.  Over  his  bed  there  hung  a 
faded  lithograph  of  Le  Petit  Caporal  in  a  frowning, 
bellicose  mood. 

It  was  a  drowsy  afternoon.  In  the  garden  be- 
neath the  glossy,  green-black  foliage  of  the  mango 
trees  a  cat  was  sleeping,  stretched  out  in  an  attitude 
of  complete  abandon;  the  air  was  heavy  with  heat, 
filled  with  the  soft  drone  of  insects.  Something  of 
the  profound  languor  of  the  tropics  slowly  pervaded 
him ;  he  lay  down  upon  his  bed,  was  soon  asleep. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  past  six  o'clock.  In  the 
cool  of  the  evening  he  strolled  dowp  to  the  street  of 

119 


I20  SREATH  OF  LIFE 

shops,  and  purchased  two  linen  suits  and  a  wide- 
brimmed  hat  of  pliant  straw.  He  returned  to  the 
hotel,  bathed  and  changed ;  descended  the  easy  flight 
of  tiled  steps  that  led  to  the  dining  room.  Here  he 
discovered  Madame  Baptiste  hovering  at  the  end  of 
a  long  table  d'hote  table,  keeping  an  anxious  eye 
upon  a  half  dozen  lemon-colored  serving  boys.  One 
side  of  the  room,  bounded  by  imitation  marble 
columns,  was  completely  open  and  faced  the  garden. 
Through  the  twilight  shadows  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  kitchen,  where  Martinique  cooks  with  shin- 
ing black  faces  were  preparing  dinner.  ...  He 
found  the  evening  meal  strange  but  palatable,  and 
liked  especially  the  great  platter  of  silvery  Caribbean 
whitebait,  cooked  to  a  turn,  which  Madame  called 
tri-ti-ri. 

He  wandered  down  to  the  Plaza  Nacional  after 
dinner,  to  discover  a  military  band  clad  in  green 
coats  and  white  duck  trousers  playing  operatic  airs 
with  a  certain  verve  that  almost  compensated  for  its 
atrocious  instruments.  All  Santa  Palma  seemed  to 
be  there,  sauntering  leisurely  beneath  the  tamarind 
trees.  He  found  a  crowded  bodega  with  tables 
spread  in  the  arcade  beneath  the  Intendencia,  and  sat 
down  to  enjoy  the  music,  the  starlit  coolness  of  the 
evening,  the  gay,  chattering  crowds.  A  pretty,  sloe- 
eyed  girl  sold  him  pungent  cigarettes  that  gripped  his 
throat  when  he  smoked  them,  and  the  waiter  served 
him  black  coffee  in  a  tall,  narrow  glass. 

He  had  been  seated  but  a  few  minutes  when  some- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  121 

one  sat  down  at  a  vacant  table  next  to  his,  caught 
his  eye  and  bowed ;  he  saw  that  it  was  his  acquaint- 
ance of  the  morning. 

He  enquired  whether  Everett  had  found  the  hotel 
comfortable,  and  there  followed  a  polite,  desultory 
conversation.  Presently  Everett  summoned  the 
waiter ;  the  little  man  suggested  cognac,  which,  when 
it  was  brought,  proved  so  fiery  that  Everett  was 
unable  to  drink  it. 

*'No  doubt,"  his  acquaintance  remarked,  "you  pre- 
fer good  Scotch.  Alas !  There  is  none  to  be  had  in 
Esperanza— except,  of  course,  in  the  house  of  my 
friend  Don  Jose.  There  is  a  man  w^ho  has  every- 
thing worth  having! — even  an  automobile,  the  only 
one  in  Esperanza.  Some  day,  I  hope,  it  may  be  your 
pleasure  to  meet  him." 

"Tell  me  about  him,"  Everett  said,  becoming  inter- 
ested in  this  mysterious  personage  to  whom  the 
little  man  referred  with  such  persistence. 

"Well,  he  is — how  you  say  it — the  most  powerful 
man  in  all  this  republic  of  Esperanza.  It  is  my  good 
fortune  to  be  his  secretary.  He  lives  in  the  Casa  Azul 
— that  big  blue  house  which  looks  upon  the  harbor ; 
you  noticed  it,  perhaps?" 

Everett  confessed  that  it  had  escaped  his  observa- 
tion. 

"But  that,"  cried  the  little  man,  "is  inconceivable ! 
It  is  the  finest  house  in  the  West  Indies" — it 
seemed  to  Everett  that  the  fellow  was  forever  talk- 
ing in  superlatives — "it  was  built  by  a  comrade  of 


122  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Ponce  de  Leon  in  the  year  fifteen  hundred  and  forty. 
A  ver'  beautiful  house  indeed/* 

"Is  Don  Jose,  then,  the  President  of  this  repub- 
lic ?'*  Everett  asked  casually. 

The  other,  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  ap- 
peared to  be  disconcerted  at  the  question. 

**N-no.  Eduardo  Pinar  is  President — vie  jo  loco! 
But  one  of  these  fine  days  Don  Jose  will  be  Presi- 
dent.   And  then '* 

He  waved  his  glass  in  the  air,  at  the  same  time 
allowing  his  voice  to  rise  to  an  incautious  loudness : 

" — And  then  Esperanza  will  become  a  great  na- 
tion!" 

Two  solemn,  elderly  men  at  a  nearby  table  glanced 
at  him  and  frowned.  His  acquaintance,  Everett 
noticed,  averted  his  head  quickly. 

"Those  are  government  ofHcials,"  he  muttered. 
"I  talk  too  much.  It  is  a  fatal  habit — eh?"  He 
changed  the  conversation  adroitly.  " — You  are 
staying  here  long?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Everett  answered  truthfully. 

"Do  you  speak  Spanish?  Everyone  should  learn 
Spanish." 

Everett  told  him  that  he  had  taken  up  Spanish 
in  college;  that  he  hoped  to  perfect  himself  in  the 
language  while  in  Esperanza. 

"You  are  here  on  business  ?"  the  Esperanzan  per- 
sisted. Everett,  in  a  spirit  of  caution,  said  non- 
committally : 

"Perhaps  I'll  find  some." 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  123 

**I  think,"  his  acquaintance  remarked  after  a 
pause,  *'that  it  is  time  we  introduced  ourselves." 
Whereupon  he  produced  a  visiting  card,  on  which 
was  elaborately  engraved : 

Senor  Vlasco  Corcovado 
Casa  Azul.     Santa  Palma. 

Everett  told  him  his  name;  Concovado  was  im- 
mediately interested. 

"Are  you  a  relation,  then,  of  the  well-known  John 
Gail — the  Americano  who  'as  purchased  all  the 
Buenavista  sugar  plantations  in  Cuba  during  the 
War?" 

'Tm  his  son,"  Everett  replied,  considerably  aston- 
ished.    "How  did  you  happen  to  know  of  that?" 

"It  is  part  of  my  business  as  Don  Jose's  secretary 
to  keep  au  courant  with  West  Indies  affairs;  it  is 
but  natural  that  news  of  such  a  big  sugar  deal 
reached  Esperanza,  and  Don  Jose  himself  grows 
sugar " 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  surveying  Everett  with 
patent  suspicion. 

"I  believe,"  he  mused,  "that  you  *ave  really  come 
to  Santa  Palma  on  the  business  for  your  father.  If 
that  is  so,  you  will  do  well  to  give  me  of  your  con- 
fidence;  no  man  can  make  the  success  in  Esperanza 
without  the  good  will  of  Don  Jose." 

"I'm  here  purely  for  my  own  pleasure,"  Everett 


124  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

asserted,  exhibiting  a  first  trace  of  annoyance  at  the 
man's  inquisitiveness. 

It  was  after  ten  when  they  parted.  Before  re- 
turning to  his  hotel  Everett  Hngered  for  a  while  in 
the  Plaza  Nacional,  minghng  with  the  dense  crowds 
that  promenaded  beneath  the  tamarinds.  It  was  a 
colorful,  tropical  panorama  that  unfolded  itself  be- 
fore his  vision  that  night,  and  he  found  it  at  once 
strange  and  beautiful. 

II 

He  sent,  the  next  morning,  an  impulsive,  reassur- 
ing cable  to  those  at  home,  in  which  he  stated  his 
intention  of  staying  for  some  time  in  the  West 
Indies ;  he  felt  that  he  at  least  owed  them  that.  .  .  . 
He  passed  the  day  exploring  Santa  Palma ;  revisited 
the  harbor,  to  be  entertained  by  native  boys  diving 
gracefully  for  copper  pennies;  climbed  the  palm- 
fringed  height  of  Santo  Cerro  at  the  back  of  the 
town  and  gazed  inland  upon  mile  after  mile  of  fertile 
undulating  hills,  pallid  green  against  the  deep  blue 
sky. 

The  cathedral  chimes  were  booming  the  hour  of 
nine  when  he  returned  to  the  Plaza  Nacional  from 
his  wanderings.  Opposite  the  arcade  of  the  Inten- 
dencia  he  found  himself,  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of 
a  gathering  crowd.  Making  his  way  through  the 
throng  he  discovered  the  ludicrous  cause  of  the  ex- 
citement. In  the  very  middle  of  the  asphalted  space 
before   the   Intendencia  there   stood   a   worn   and 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  125 

battered  automobile  of  an  obsolete  American  pat- 
tern; a  diminutive  negro  in  a  white  uniform  was 
cranking  the  engine  furiously,  with  no  appreciable 
result. 

In  the  tonneau  of  the  car  sat  a  tremendous  man 
with  a  Van  Dyke  beard;  his  features  were  heavily 
aquiline,  tanned ;  his  hair  tinged  with  streaks  of  gray. 
A  handsome,  even  imposing  figure,  Everett  thought, 
in  his  immaculate  white  clothes,  black  sombrero,  a 
great  scarlet  flower  at  his  buttonhole;  he  had  about 
him  an  indefinable  suggestion  of  power,  an  appear- 
ance of  ease  and  well-being  indicative  of  a  man  who 
had  made  his  mark  in  the  world.  The  stolid,  gaping 
crowd  seemed  to  irritate  him;  he  leaned  forward 
and  whispered  something  to  the  little  negro,  who 
valiantly  continued  his  efforts  to  start  the  car. 
Everett  at  that  moment  recalled  certain  words  of  his 
acquaintance,  Corcovado:  *'.  .  .  he  owns  an  auto- 
mobile, the  only  one  in  Esperanza.'* 

Then  this  must  be  the  great  Don  Jose. 

He  gazed  at  the  man  with  keener  interest,  then  at 
the  car.  In  a  whimsical  mood  he  edged  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  strode  up  to  the  car,  and  without 
a  word  to  its  occupant  lifted  the  hood.  A  hurried 
examination — he  was  instinctively  clever  at  mechan- 
ics— revealed  a  minor  defect  in  the  carburation, 
which  he  was  swiftly  able  to  adjust.  He  then  sig- 
nalled to  the  gaping  negro  who  dubiously  gave  the 
crank  another  turn;  the  car  instantly  came  to  life, 
throbbing  and  trembling  from  stem  to  stern. 


126  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

As  Everett  started  back  toward  the  crowd  the  big 
man  stood  up  in  the  tonneau  and  hailed  him  with 
an  imperious  wave  of  his  arm. 

^'That  was  very  clever,"  he  said  in  Spanish. 
*'Where  did  you  learn  about  automobiles?" 

Everett  replied,  summoning  what  Spanish  he 
knew,  that  he  had  driven  cars  in  America  ever  since 
he  could  remember. 

"So!"  said  the  big  man,  and  twirled  his  great 
moustache  fiercely.     Then,  in  English,  added: 

''Alonzo,  here — he  knows  nothing  about  the  auto- 
mobile, as  you  can  see.  And  I  cannot  get  a  chauffeur 
in  this  place." 

"Don't  you  drive  yourself?"  Everett  asked  inno- 
cently. 

The  big  man  started  back,  almost  as  if  Everett 
had  struck  him. 

*T?"  he  boomed,  tapping  his  vast  chest  with  a 
gold-headed  cane.  "I — Don  Jose  Rodriguez  drive 
the  automobile?  Carramba!  You  are  making  sport 
of  me  that  you  suggest  this  monstrous  thing — eh?" 

And  he  laughed,  a  deep,  rumbling  laugh  that  shook 
his  great  body. 

"Here — "  he  said,  moving  to  one  side  of  the  car. 
"You  appear  to  be  a  young  man  of  intelligence;  I 
must  have  a  conversation  with  you.  Jump  in.  It 
is  my  wish.    We  will  go  for  a  little  drive." 

There  was  something  almost  regal  in  the  way  he 
said  "it  is  my  wish,"  Everett  thought.  However,  he 
obeyed  laughingly. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  127 

A  moment  later  the  car  left  Plaza  and  turned  up 
a  narrow,  winding  street  that  climbed  toward  the 
heights  above  the  town.  Don  Jose  turned  to  him, 
offering  an  enormous  cigar. 

"How  is  it  that  you,  an  American,  are  in  Esper- 
anza?"  he  enquired.  "I  do  not  believe  there  are  a 
dozen  of  your  countrymen  upon  the  island." 

"Accident,  more  than  anything  else,"  Everett  told 
him.  "I  went  on  board  a  ship  to — well — to  get  a 
change  of  scene.  The  ship  came  to  Santa  Palma, 
and  I  left  it." 

Don  Jose  nodded  several  times ;  puffed  hard  at  his 
own  gigantic  cigar. 

"Ah!     You  came  to  have  the  adventures — eh?" 

Everett  frowned.  He  had  a  suspicion  that  this 
big  man  might  prove  too  keen  an  analyst  to  please 
him.  Don  Jose  saw  the  frown,  and  roared  good- 
naturedly. 

"You  are  very  young,  I  see.  Now  tell  me — 
You  think  of  working  in  Esperanza?  No  real 
Americano  is  contented  unless  he  works;  isn't  it  so?" 

"I  might  work,"  Everett  conceded,  "if  I  found 
something  to  interest  me — but,  then,  I  don't  have  to 
while  I'm  here,  unless  I  find  a  suitable  job." 

Don  Jose  seemed  to  find  this  amusing. 

"Of  course.  I  understand.  You  are  a  cahallero, 
and  you  do  not  wish  that  I  should  mistake  that^ 
Well,  my  young  man,  I  could  see  that  at  once.  I 
know  something  of  human  nature.  However,  as 
you  are  here  and  can  be  of  the  service  to  me,  I  make 


128  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

you  an  offer.  This  damn  nigger — " — he  nodded 
toward  the  chauffeur — "he  knows  nothing.  Every 
day  four,  five,  six  time  perhaps,  we  are  estopped  by 
some  strange  sickness  of  this  automobile — and  he 
never  knows  what  is  the  matter.  So  I,  Don  Jose, 
principal  planter  and  renowned  citizen  of  Esperanza, 
am  obliged  to  sit  in  the  car  like  a — what  you  call 
it — dummy,  while  he  works  to  discover  the  cause  of 
the  estoppage.  And  then  the  people  of  the  town  be- 
gin to  laugh.  You  see,  in  that  way  a  caballero  will 
lose  considerable  of  his  dignity — eh?" 

Everett  repressed  a  smile. 

** What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?" 

Don  Jose's  voice  became  suavely  soft,  diplomatic. 

*T  want  that  you  should  drive  this  car  for  me. 
Listen —  It  will  be  kept  clean  by  my  sirvientes;  all 
you  will  do  is  to  drive  me  about.  I  will  not  call  you 
my  chauffeur,  for  that,  perhaps,  offends  your  dig- 
nity— I  will  call  you  my — my " 

He  paused  a  moment,  pulling  his  beard  thought- 
fully; then  broke  into  a  vast  smile  that  revealed 
gleaming  rows  of  white  teeth. 

"I  will  call  you  my  automobile  engineer.  How  is 
that?" 

By  this  time  the  car  had  left  the  straggling  out- 
skirts of  Santa  Palma,  was  speeding  along  a  country 
road  far  above  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  town. 
Everett  leaned  back  comfortably  in  his  seat. 

"What  salary  would  I  get?"  he  asked  whimsically. 

Don  Jose  stared  at  him. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  129 

"Eh  ?  It  is  not  enough  honor  to  live  in  the  Casa 
Azul,  and  to  be  the  entrusted  assistant  of  Don  Jose? 
— Dios!    This  young  man  is  hard  to  please!" 

Detecting  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eye,  Everett 
answered  politely : 

'Tt  would  be  very  delightful  to  live  at  the  Casa 
Azul,  and  all  that — but,  after  all,  I  couldn't  work 
for  nothing." 

It  was  the  first  time  in  his  experience  that  another 
man  had  openly  evinced  a  desire  to  secure  his  serv- 
ices, and  he  was  determined  to  take  full  enjoyment 
out  of  the  situation.  The  Esperanzan's  colossal 
conceit  had  not  in  the  least  impressed  him ;  he  was, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  considerably  amused  by  it. 

**Well — "  Don  Jose  said,  with  a  sudden  air  of 
munificence,  ''suppose  that  I  should  offer  you  thirty 
Esperanza  dollars  by  the  month?" 

Everett,  aware  that  the  monetary  standard  of 
Esperanza  was  different  from  that  prevailing  in  the 
United  States,  realized  that  the  big  man  had  made 
what  he  considered  a  handsome  offer. 

"Make  it  fifty,"  he  replied  promptly,  "and  Fll  ac- 
cept." 

To  his  surprise  Don  Jose  agreed  willingly,  dis- 
playing yet  another  side  of  his  complex  character. 

"Gentlemen  cannot  dispute  over  matters  of 
money,"  he  said  with  a  magnificent  gesture.  " — And 
now,  where  are  you  living,  that  I  may  escort  you 
home?*' 

Everett  told  him,  adding : 


I30  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

"Your  secretary,  Corcovado,  recommended  the 
hotel." 

Don  Jose  raised  his  eyebrows  sharply. 

"So?  You  have  already  made  his  acquaintance? 
He  is  a  useful  young  man,  that  Corcovado;  he  has 
my  personal  affection  and  esteem.  I  entrust  him 
with  the  most  delicate  of  secrets " 

His  brow  clouded  for  an  instant. 

"If  I  have  fault  to  find,  it  is  perhaps  only  be- 
cause he  talks  a  little  too  much.  But  he  is  improv- 
ing— ^yes,  he  is  improving."  His  voice  trailed  off 
into  silence  as  he  became  absorbed  in  some  obscure 
process  of  thought.  Everett  found  himself  specu- 
lating blankly  as  to  what  delicate  secrets  Don  Jose 
might  possess.  He  was  convinced,  suddenly,  that 
this  big  man,  in  spite  of  his  fripperies,  his  laugh- 
able conceits,  had  a  more  serious  aspect  to  him. 
Outwardly,  perhaps,  he  would  appear  a  fastidious 
gentleman  of  leisure,  one  who  existed  purely  to 
enjoy  the  luxuries  and  finer  pleasure  of  life.  And 
yet — and  yet  Everett  was  perfectly  sure  that  there 
were  other,  deeper  things.  .  .  .  Beneath  his  blatant 
superficialites,  one  felt,  irresistibly,  the  man  was 
eager,  striving,  tremendously  ambitious.  ... 

At  the  door  of  the  Hotel  Venus  Don  Jose  left 
him,  after  much  bowing  and  handshaking.  It  was 
understood  that  Everett  was  to  present  himself  at 
the  Casa  Azul  on  the  following  day — to  take  up  his 
duties  as  automobile  engineer  on  the  private  staff  of 
Don  Jose  Rodriguez. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  131 

The  car  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  dust  up  the 
moonlit  street,  and  Everett  climbed  to  his  little  blue 
bedroom.  The  future,  he  concluded  hopefully,  held 
interesting  possibilities. 


CHAPTER  V 


Away  back  in  the  days  when  Drake  and  Hawkins 
and  Furbisher  cruised  the  Spanish  Main,  striking 
terror  in  the  hearts  of  Spaniards  who  had  settled  in 
the  palm-treed  isles  of  the  Caribbean;  when  Esper- 
anza  was  a  colony  of  planters,  and  Santa  Palma  a 
gay,  prosperous  fragment  of  Barcelona  transplanted 
to  an  emerald  setting,  the  Valencian  family  of 
Rodriguez  migrated  there.  Don  Juan  Rodriguez, 
head  of  the  clan,  was  a  grand  old  man  with  a  long 
white  beard,  an  aristocratic  walk,  and  a  terrible  eye. 
He  gradually  acquired  acres  and  acres  of  planta- 
tions— tobacco,  and  sugar,  and  coffee — and  because 
he  bowed  to  the  authority  of  no  man,  worshipped 
God  and  scorned  the  devil,  the  Esperanzans  created 
him  the  first  Governor  of  Esperanza.  His  son  Don 
Mario  Rodriguez  succeeded  to  the  governorship  at 
his  father's  death,  by  common  consent,  thus  estab- 
lishing a  species  of  dynasty.  No  one  protested — 
indeed,  they  dared  not,  nor  did  they  have  the  desire, 
for  the  Rodriguez  were  aristocrats  to  the  core,  and 
although  they  ruled  the  colony  with  an  iron  hand 
they  were  eminently  just  to  all. 

132 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  133 

It  was  the  Rodriguez  money  that  buih  the  famous 
Camino  Real  across  the  one  hundred  and  thirty 
kilometers  of  island  from  Santa  Palma  on  the 
northern  coast  to  the  southern  port  of  Los  Barrios; 
it  was  the  Rodriguez  fleet  of  galleons,  with  their 
azure  and  gold  house  pennants,  that  helped  to  make 
Esperanza  one  of  the  richest  colonies  in  all  the 
Caribbean,  for  they  plied  throughout  the  year  be- 
tween Santa  Palma  and  the  mother  country,  sailing 
eastward  with  their  holds  full  of  sugar  and  tobacco 
and  tropical  fruit,  returning  toward  the  setting  sun 
laden  to  the  bulwarks  with  Spanish  gold.  .  .  .  But 
as  in  the  case  of  so  many  great  families,  there  came 
at  last  a  flaw  in  the  Rodriguez  chain.  When 
Don  Mario  died  during  the  yellow  fever  scourge  of 
1870,  his  son,  Juan  the  Second,  seized  the  governor- 
ship of  Esperanza,  in  accordance  with  tradition. 
This  man  proved  to  be  a  weakling;  he  possessed 
neither  the  broad  vision  of  his  antecedents,  nor  their 
inherent  sense  of  justice;  and  to  compensate  for  his 
weakness  he  was  obliged  to  surround  himself  with 
unscrupulous  followers,  who  bled  the  colony  to  fill 
their  own  coffers.  The  Esperanzans  rose  eventually 
in  revolt,  shot  Juan  the  Second  in  the  garden  of  the 
family  house,  the  Casa  Azul,  one  gray  dawn;  and 
promptly  established  a  republic.  His  wife,  a  fine 
Castilian  aristocrat,  died  of  a  broken  heart,  leaving 
behind  a  sister,  and  little  Jose,  aged  ten.  Spain, 
having  at  that  time  her  own  troubles  elsewhere, 
merely  sighed  and  left  Esperanza  to  her  destinies. 


134  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

For  a  few  more  years  Esperanza  flourished,  then 
gently  subsided  into  that  attitude  of  sleepy  decay 
that  already  characterized  many  of  her  neighbors. 
Presidents  came  and  presidents  went;  political 
parties  grew  up,  mushroom-like,  overnight,  to  be 
swept  into  oblivion  at  dawn  by  some  new  group  with 
newer  ideas;  there  were  Nationalists,  Democrats, 
Republicans,  Royalists — even  Socialists;  but  not 
one  of  them  could  revive  Esperanza's  lost  position 
in  the  world,  or  regain  those  halcyon  days  when 
Santa  Palma's  harbor  was  crowded  with  the  ships 
of  nations. 

Thus,  little  Jose  Rodriguez  grew  up,  steeped  in 
the  traditions  of  his  magnificent  ancestors  by  an  old 
hag  of  an  aunt  who  lived  in  the  past,  and  wept  every 
night  when  she  thought  of  the  glorious  days  gone 
by.  Jose  was  a  proud  little  boy,  and  became  a  still 
prouder  young  man.  He  lived  all  alone  with  his 
aunt  in  the  Casa  Azul,  the  great  blue  house  over- 
looking Santa  Palma  harbor,  which  the  rebels  in 
a  whim  of  mercy  had  left  untouched.  The  aunt  died, 
muttering  mystic  curses  upon  the  heads  of  the  vile 
Republicanos;  and  Jose  was  left  alone.  At  the  age 
of  nineteen  he  insisted  that  he  be  called  Don  Jose 
by  his  inferiors,  in  memory  of  the  sleeping  great, 
and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  titles  had  long  since 
been  abolished  upon  the  island.  The  Esperanzans, 
good-natured  and  careless  in  their  new-found 
liberty,  consented  to  address  him  as  Don  Jose  be- 
cause it  seemed  to  appease  him,  and  because  it  did 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  135 

not  matter  to  them  what  a  soHtary,  proud  young 
man  chose  to  call  himself.  They  regarded  him  as 
a  pleasant  nonentity,  entitled  perhaps  to  a  certain 
degree  of  respect  because  of  the  benefits  their 
country  had  derived  from  his  ancestors.  In  rating 
him  as  a  limpet  the  Esperanzans  made  a  tremendous 
mistake,  for  in  the  big  black  eyes  of  that  lonely 
youth  there  burned  the  fires  of  an  unquenchable, 
irresistible  ambition,  and  in  his  finely-shaped  head 
there  was  a  mind  clear-visioned  and  active,  that 
rose  to  heights  of  which  the  popinjays  in  power  at 
the  Senado  never  dreamed.  .  .  . 


II 


Jose  Rodriguez  went  to  college  in  the  United 
States  for  three  years,  following  his  aunt's  death, 
in  order  that  he  might  learn  law  and  languages  and 
something  of  the  great  world  beyond  Esperanza. 
He  ceased  to  think  provincially ;  became  a  broad- 
minded  cosmopolitan.  It  was  not  until  his  thirtieth 
year  that,  after  touring  the  world,  he  settled  down 
once  more  at  the  Casa  Azul  and  devoted  himself 
to  the  upkeep  of  the  few  Rodriguez  plantations  the 
rebels  had  left  him — ^he  still  termed  them,  in  his 
mind,  rebels,  although  Esperanza  had  now  been  a 
republic  for  twenty  years  and  its  fifteenth  president 
had  been  elected. 

The  Spanish-American  War  he  regarded  with 
mingled  feelings;  at  first  he  resented  the  Cubans* 


136  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

defection,  just  as  his  aunt  had  resented  Esperanza's 
throwing  off  of  the  Spanish  yoke — but  when  he 
saw,  in  later  years,  Cuba  rising  miraculously  to  the 
lead  of  the  West  Indies,  growing  prosperous,  clean 
and  beautiful  under  the  influence  of  the  United 
States,  he  longed  for  similar  benefits  for  his  own 
country.  It  was  at  this  period,  during  his  forty- 
first  year,  that  Don  Jose  first  conceived  his  idea 
magnificent,  which  was  to  make  Esperanza  the 
leading  power  of  Latin  America.  The  idea  took 
root,  grew  in  his  fertile  brain;  became  infinitely 
complex  and  detailed.  Meanwhile  he  went  about 
his  business,  silent  and  dignified,  never  uttering  a 
word  to  any  man  of  what  was  in  his  mind,  know- 
ing full  well  that  he  must  wait. 

His  was  a  complex  character.  From  long 
centuries  of  ancestral  dominion  he  had  inherited  a 
certain  intolerance  for  the  uneducated  masses — 
but  his  American  education,  his  travels  abroad,  had 
tempered  this  intolerance  to  such  a  degree  that  he 
eventually  acquired  that  ability  to  mix  on  the 
friendliest  terms  with  all  types  and  conditions  of 
men  which  is  invaluable  to  the  politically  ambitious. 
For  democracy  itself  he  had  not,  personally,  the 
slightest  use,  but  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  know 
that  in  this  enlightened  century  democracy  was  a 
watchword,  and  a  slogan,  shouted  by  those  in 
tottering  power  as  a  sop  to  discontented  proletariats. 
He  realized  that  if  ever  Esperanza  were  to  regain 
her  pristine  power  it  must  be  under  a  government 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  137 

at  least  cloaked  with  visionary  ideals.  He  was  not, 
in  the  usual  sense  of  the  word,  a  reactionary ;  prog- 
ress was,  perhaps,  the  only  thing  in  the  world  that 
evoked  his  admiration.  He  liked  the  feverish 
acceleration  lent  to  existence  by  the  advent  of  auto^ 
mobiles,  telephones  and  telegraphs  .  .  .  but  if  these 
things  were  to  find  their  way  to  Esperanza  he 
wished  to  control  them  all.  H  fire  and  sword  were 
no  longer  able  to  rule  the  island,  he  told  himself, 
then  capital  must.  And  thus  this  proud  descendant 
of  hard,  bitter  Spanish  grandees  felt  the  craving 
for  power  growing  stronger  within  him  year  after 
year.  Fully  aware  of  his  own  capabilities,  he  had 
a  superb  contempt  for  those  who  temporarily  guided 
Esperanza's  destinies. 

The  Great  War  touched  Esperanza  but  little.  A 
pro-German  party  cropped  up  amongst  the  coffee 
exporters,  to  be  overwhelmed  at  the  elections  by  the 
Republicans,  whose  leaders  were  pro-American. 
Old  Eduardo  Pinar  who  had  been  President  since 
191 3 — the  longest  term  in  the  history  of  the  re- 
public— was  re-elected,  and  publicly  avowed  Esper- 
anza's eternal  friendship  for  the  United  States;  the 
Star  Spangled  Banner  was  played  every  Thursday 
night  in  the  Plaza  Nacional.  .  .  .  Don  Jose,  on 
the  other  hand,  in  spite  of  the  benefits  of  his 
American  education  was  not  at  all  pro- American ; 
he  did  not  dislike  Americans  as  individuals,  but  he 
had  a  secret  fear  gnawing  at  his  heart  that  if  any 
foreign  interference  were  to  come  when  his  plans 


138  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

were  ripe  that  interference  would  come  from  the 
United  States. 

"The  Monroe  Doctrine,"  he  would  say  to  Corco- 
vado,  as  they  sat  planning  tremendous  things  over 
their  coffee.  "Bah! — It  is  not  for  the  liberty  of 
the  hemisphere  that  they  proclaim  it.  In  theory  it 
is  beautiful;  in  practice  it  paves  the  way  for  a 
second   British  Empire.  .  .  .'* 

Like  all  of  his  kind  he  was  suspicious  of  altruism 
in  any  man  or  nation;  even  the  example  of  Cuba's 
treatment  failed  to  convince  him.  A  delegation  of 
young  Porto  Ricans,  fired  with  an  obscure  desire 
for  independence,  came  to  visit  him  at  Santa  Palma 
and  sought  his  support;  but  he  was  far  too  clever 
to  openly  commit  himself  to  such  a  cause.  He 
made  a  speech  to  them  containing  the  vaguest  ex- 
pressions of  sympathy,  and  despatched  them  back 
to  Porto  Rico  where  they  eventually  discovered 
that  they  had  gained  nothing. 

He  knew  the  value  of  biding  his  time.  For 
fifteen  years  he  had  waited;  said  nothing.  He 
enlarged  his  plantations,  became  presently  one  of 
the  richest  men  in  Esperanza.  He  never  spoke  to 
a  single  member  of  the  government,  and  avoided 
all  dealings  with  them.  They,  in  their  turn,  resented 
his  aloofness  but  were  powerless  to  act  against  him, 
for  here  was  a  living  example  of  what  a  law-abiding 
citizen  should  be. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  nineteen  hundred  and 
nineteen,  one  Erik  Tegel  arrived  in  Santa  Palma 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  139 

and  went  immediately  to  the  Casa  Azul,  where  he 
laid  before  Don  Jose  certain  interesting  proposals. 
It  was  then,  only,  that  the  silent  machinery  of  the 
great  plan  began  to  operate.  The  arrival  of  Everett 
Gail  in  Esperanza,  months  later,  was  to  furnish  an 
additional  and  minor  piece  of  mechanism  to  that 
machinery,  although  he  himself  for  a  long  time 
failed  to  realize  it. 


Ill 

Early  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  his 
meeting  with  Don  Jose  Everett  arrived  at  the  Casa 
Azul. 

The  house  stood,  four  square  to  the  winds,  upon 
a  promontory  that  formed  the  western  margin  of 
Santa  Palma's  harbor.  It  was  a  square,  solid  old 
mansion  with  arabesqued  windows  cleft  at  regular 
intervals  through  its  thick  walls;  the  color  of  it,  a 
pale,  coquettish  blue,  seemed,  somehow,  in  odd 
contrast  with  the  chaste  severity  of  its  design. 
Between  the  house  and  the  road,  which  came  wind- 
ing up  from  Santa  Palma  like  a  white  thread 
through  the  jade  green  of  plantations,  there  was  a 
rather  formal  little  garden  of  coconut  palms,  bam- 
boos, and  narrow,  pebbly  paths.  At  the  back  of  the 
house,  and  surrounding  the  garden  too,  there  rose 
a  crenelated  wall  of  white  plaster  almost  smothered 
in  a  cascade  of  scarlet  bougainvillea.  Beyond  this 
wall  Everett  caught  a  glimpse  of  another  house,  a 


I40  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

low-roofed  villa  sheltered  by  the  wavering  foliage 
of  palms. 

His  first  day  at  the  Casa  Azul  passed  quietly. 
Corcovado,  who  welcomed  him,  escorted  him  to 
his  bedroom.  It  was  just  such  a  room,  Everett 
thought,  as  one  would  expect  to  find  in  the  house, 
with  its  flooring  of  vivid  blue  tiles;  the  Hght  rattan 
furniture;  the  great  archway  of  a  window,  glass- 
less,  and  jalousied  from  the  flood  of  sunshine. 

He  spent  the  afternoon  in  his  room,  reading  a 
paper-covered  novel  which  Corcovado  lent  him. 
Don  Jose,  it  appeared,  was  remaining  in  his  study, 
occupied  with  a  quantity  of  correspondence. 
Everett,  as  he  read,  could  hear  a  typewriter  click- 
ing methodically  from  behind  some  closed  doors  at 
the  end  of  a  cool,  dark  corridor;  he  found  himself 
wondering  as  to  what  kept  Don  Jose  so  infinitely 
busy  throughout  the  hot,  listless  hours  of  the  after- 
noon. It  was  all  very  quiet  and  peaceful.  In  the 
garden  beneath  his  window  the  palm  fronds  yielded 
with  a  lazy  stir,  now  and  then,  to  the  faintest 
breath  of  a  wind.  Through  a  window,  across  the 
passage  from  his  bedroom,  he  could  see  the 
Caribbean,  placid,  somnolent,  like  a  molten  mirror 
in  the  afternoon  sun.  A  single  brown-sailed 
schooner  was  lying  inert,  helpless,  upon  the  glassy 
surface.     .     .     . 

His  supper,  brought  to  his  room  by  a  taciturn 
Dominican  serving  boy,  he  ate  alone.  For  the  first 
time,  perhaps,  since  he  had  set  foot  in  Santa  Palma 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  141 

a  sense  of  loneliness  pervaded  him.  He  retired  early, 
from  sheer  boredom,  but  lay  awake  for  long  hours 
in  his  fragile  bed  trying  to  decide  whether  he  had 
made  a  mistake  in  accepting  Don  Jose's  offer;  he 
had  no  complaint  whatever  to  make,  he  felt,  con- 
cerning the  treatment  that  so  far  had  been  accorded 
him — nevertheless,  the  sense  of  overwhelming  iso- 
lation persisted  ...  it  occurred  to  him,  almost 
irrelevantly,  that  it  would  be  a  difficult  thing  indeed 
to  make  his  escape,  should  he  ever  desire  it,  against 
Don  Jose's  will.  Then,  too  he  was  inclined  to 
believe  that  something  complex,  intriguing,  of 
gigantic  proportions,  was  being  planned  in  this  vast, 
silent  house.  The  typewriter  continued  its  remorse- 
less song  far  down  the  corridor,  and  grew  upon  his 
irritation.  The  sound  of  it,  at  last,  turned  his 
thoughts  to  certain  offices  on  Broadway — and,  in 
turn,  to  his  own  home.  He  dismissed  impatiently 
a  rising  pang  of  nostalgia,  and  tossed  about  uneasily 
in  his  bed. 

Some  hours  later,  as  he  was  about  to  fall  asleep, 
the  sound  of  a  woman's  voice,  dreamy  with  dis- 
tance and  caressingly  soft,  drifted  in  through  the 
open  archway  of  his  window;  but  he  was  at  the 
time  too  drowsy  to  speculate  upon  it. 


CHAPTER  VI 


Don  Jose  sent  up  word  early  the  next  morning 
that  he  would  require  the  car  for  a  trip  across  the 
island  to  the  southern  coast,  and  Everett,  glad  of 
relief  from  a  prospect  of  protracted  inactivity, 
dressed  with  a  feeling  of  pleasurable  anticipation. 
He  had  already  observed  enough  of  Esperanza's 
climatic  conditions  to  realize  that  only  a  relentless 
effort  at  physical  and  mental  mobility  would  pre- 
vent him  from  slipping  into  that  condition  of 
lassitude  and  indifference  which  had,  apparently, 
conquered  most  of  the  island  inhabitants. 

At  nine  o'clock,  promptly,  he  was  waiting  at  the 
door  of  the  house.  Don  Jose  appeared  a  few 
minutes  later,  somewhat  nervous  and  preoccupied. 
He  nodded  almost  curtly  to  Everett  as  he  climbed, 
with  surprising  agility,  into  the  back  of  the  car. 
He  was  dressed,  it  seemed  to  Everett,  in  an 
elaborate  manner;  a  suit  of  white  flannel  patterned 
with  a  hairline  of  blue ;  a  yellow  silken  scarf ;  a  blue 
flower  this  time  at  his  lapel.  Corcovado,  lithe, 
quick-moving,  nervous  too,  took  the  seat  beside 
Everett. 

142 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  143 

"We  are  going,"  he  announced,  "to  the  town  of 
Los  Barrios — across  the  island.  I  trust  that  there 
is  plenty  of  fuel  with  us." 

Everett,  nodding,  threw  in  the  clutch  and  they 
trundled  down  the  sinuous  road  toward  the  roofs  of 
Santa  Palma,  colorful  in  the  morning  sunlight.  At 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  following  Corcovado's  di- 
rections, he  turned  off  sharply  to  the  right  upon  a 
narrow  road  that  wound  its  way  inland  through 
fields  of  sugar-cane. 

"This,"  explained  Corcovado,  "is  the  Caniino 
Real,  built  by  Don  Jose's  ancestors." 

Gradually  the  plaster  houses  of  straggling  suburbs 
gave  way  to  fragile  wooden  bungalows — then  habi- 
tations ceased  as  the  emerged  into  open  country. 
They  passed  a  sugar  central ,  its  trio  of  chimneys 
looming  like  a  battleship  in  a  pallid  green  sea  of 
waving  cane,  belching  acrid  smoke  into  the  serene 
sky;  and,  presently,  shot  by  a  dilapidated  frame- 
work building  through  whose  open  doors  they 
glimpsed  a  score  of  listless  children  droning  out  their 
lessons  to  a  somnolent  teacher.  The  sight  of  the 
school  appeared  to  irritate  Don  Jose;  he  muttered 
something  about  inefficiency  and  corruption,  which 
Everett  caught  faintly  as  they  sped  along  the  white 
road. 

At  regular  intervals  they  passed  a  carretera,  a 
roadkeeper's  lodge  built  of  dull  orange  brick  work, 
fast  tumbling  to  decay.  In  times  gone  by,  Corco- 
vado stated  garrulously,  these  men  had  kept  the 


144  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

road  in  perfect  condition.  As  it  was,  the  car 
swayed  and  jolted  over  an  atrociously  rough  surface. 

"Don  Jose,  in  power,  would  change  all  this,"  he 
whispered,  his  eye  alight  with  enthusiasm. 

The  road  commenced,  after  some  twenty  miles, 
a  slow  ascent  amidst  a  range  of  cup-shaped  hills. 
The  vegetation  changed,  almost  imperceptibly. 
Sugar-cane  gave  way  to  sloping  fields  of  tobacco 
laid  out  in  geometrical  precision,  scattered  here  and 
there  with  thatched  drying  sheds;  but  the  tobacco, 
seen  from  the  road,  was  shrivelled  and  starved- 
looking,  the  thatched  robeles  neglected  and  falling 
to  ruin. 

An  old  man  clad  in  a  pink  shirt  and  white 
trousers,  mounted  on  a  mule,  his  attenuated  legs 
dragging  in  the  dust,  shouted  something  derisive 
as  the  car  hummed  past  him.  Corcovado  frowned; 
glanced  back  nervously  at  Don  Jose. 

"A  government  employee,"  he  whispered  to 
Everett.  "One  of  Pinar's  men.  They  all  dislike 
Don  Jose  because  they  fear  that  he  is  opening  the 
eyes  of  the  people " 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Corcovado!''  Don  Jose 
shouted  from  behind;  and  Everett,  bending  over 
the  steering  wheel  to  conceal  a  smile,  marvelled  at 
Corcovado's  constant  indiscretions. 

At  the  summit  of  the  range,  a  thousand  meters 
above  the  level  of  the  sea,  he  stopped  the  car,  to 
allow  the  bubbling  radiator  to  cool.  Don  Jose 
climbed   down    from   the   tonneau   and   lighted   a 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  145 

cigarillo;  the  deep-set  eyes  in  his  mahogany  face 
were  bright  with  anger.  He  motioned  abruptly  to 
Corcovado  to  take  the  back  seat  while  he  himself 
jumped  in  beside  Everett.  He  pulled  out  a  watch, 
thin  as  a  gold  coin,  and  glanced  at  it  anxiously; 
then  waved  a  long  arm  toward  the  distant  hori- 
zon, where  Everett  could  detect  a  faint  strip  of 
silver  gleaming  beyond  the  greenness  of  the  tobacco 
fields. 

"I  must  be  in  Los  Barrios  by  noon,"  he  said,  and 
his  words  were  in  the  nature  of  a  command. 

They  dived  down  the  valley  in  shuddering,  sway- 
ing flight.  Everett  noted,  with  some  approbation, 
that  Don  Jose  showed  no  signs  of  nervousness  as 
the  speedometer  needle  crept  up  to  the  figure  fifty- 
five — and  wavered  there.  The  big  man  was  clinging 
to  his  hat,  his  white  teeth  biting  into  the  stub  of 
his  cigarillo. 

"You  drive  well,"  he  shouted,  and  the  sound  of 
his  voice  came  as  a  mere  whisper  through  whirling 
clouds  of  gray  dust. 

A  minute  before  noon  they  sped  down  a  long 
straight  avenue  of  flamboya  trees  in  vivid  bloom, 
their  petals  strewing  the  roadway  with  an  orange 
carpet,  and  entered  the  streets  of  Los  Barrios.  It 
was  a  straggling,  white-washed  town,  breathing  a 
general  atmosphere  of  exhausted  vitality,  its  streets 
reeking  with  damp,  cloying  odor  of  sugar  in  bulk. 
At  Don  Jose's  direction  Everett  turned  the  car 
into  a  plaza  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  a  treeless 


146  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

expanse  of  steaming  asphalt,  and  stopped  before  an 
unpretentious  house  of  white  plaster. 

A  stout,  oily  little  man  emerged  from  the  house  at 
the  sound  of  the  car,  pausing  to  glance  nervously  up 
and  down  the  deserted  plaza.  Apparently  reassured, 
he  came  forward  to  grasp  Don  Jose's  hand. 

''Se  bienvienido  **  he  murmured;  after  which  he 
looked  suspiciously  at  Everett. 

Don  Jose  waved  a  reassuring  hand. 

**A  new  member  of  my  staff,*'  he  explained  in 
Spanish. 

The  fat  man  whispered  something  which  Everett 
could  not  hear.  And  then  the  three  of  them  went 
into  the  white  house,  leaving  him  alone  in  the  car. 

Don  Jose  and  Corcovado  did  not  reappear  until 
an  hour  later;  both  of  them,  it  seemed  to  Everett, 
were  in  a  state  of  elation.  Don  Jose  signified  his 
wish  to  return  immediately  to  Santa  Palma. 

As  the  car  left  the  plaza  and  turned  up  a  dusty, 
cobblestoned  street  a  group  of  men  seated  under 
the  striped  awning  of  a  bodega  raised  a  faint  but 
unmistakable  cheer. 

''Viva  Don  Jose!" 

Everett,  glancing  back,  saw  that  all  of  them  were 
young  men — well-dressed,  alert-looking  citizens  of 
the  better  class. 

"V£dientesr  cried  Don  Jose,  evidently  well 
pleased.  He  stood  up  in  the  car.  *'Brave  fellows. 
It  is  such  men  that  I  need " 

At  that  instant  a  stone,  propelled  by  some  unseen 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  147 

hand  and  coming  from  a  direction  opposite  the 
bodega,  crashed  through  the  windshield,  leaving  a 
bullet-like  hole  in  the  shattered  glass.  Don  Jose 
sat  down,  and  shook  with  laughter.  Observing 
Everett's  expression  of  astonishment,  he  said  gran- 
diloquently : 

"Like  all  prominent  men,  you  see,  I  have  both 
the  friends  and  the  enemies.  It  is  yet  to  be  proved 
which  are  in  the  majority." 

Life,  then,  in  Esperanza  was  not  to  be  devoid  of 
excitement  after  all,  thought  Everett.  The  hurtling 
of  the  stone  through  the  windshield  tingled  his 
senses,  added  a  sudden  new  zest  to  existence.  He 
drove  recklessly,  but  magnificently,  back  to  Santa 
Palma,  covering  the  eighty  odd  miles  in  a  little 
over  two  hours. 

Corcovado  alighted,  shaken  and  pale.  Don  Jose, 
cool  and  smiling,  grasped  Everett's  hand  before  he 
turned  to  enter  the  Casa  Azul. 

**You  are  a  man  after  my  own  heart,"  he  vowed. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  their  mutual  understand- 
ing. 

II 

In  the  blue  shadows  of  the  tropic  evening  a  man 
came  to  the  Casa  Azul.  Everett,  from  an  upstairs 
balcony,  saw  him  plodding  slowly  up  the  road  from 
Santa  Palma,  a  lonely,  diminutive  figure  in  the 
gathering  twilight.  As  he  approached  the  house 
Everett  gazed  at  him  with  increasing  interest,  for 


148  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

he  saw  that  the  stranger  was  no  native  of  Esper- 
anza.  A  tall,  loose-limbed  young  man  he  proved 
to  be,  clad  in  a  suit  of  grayish  material,  and  carry- 
ing a  small  pigskin  suitcase ;  the  gray  felt  hat,  worn 
well  at  the  back  of  his  head,  revealed  an  abundance 
of  crisp  hair,  the  color  of  straw.  The  man's  lean 
face,  with  its  high,  prominent  cheek  bones,  was 
mirthless,  sombre  in  expression;  his  mouth  a  firm, 
straight  line;  his  chin  sharply  aggressive. 

He  passed  through  the  roadside  gateway  with 
a  confident,  swinging  stride,  and  a  moment  later 
Everett  heard  the  wire  screen  doors  of  the  house 
clatter  behind  him.  It  occurred  to  him,  instantly, 
that  the  young  man  must  be  well  at  home  at  the  Casa 
Azul,  since  he  did  not  detect  the  usual  ringing  of 
the  doorbell,  a  ponderous  affair  whose  jangling 
echo  he  had  become  accustomed  to  during  his  stay 
at  the  house. 

A  servant  boy  appeared  at  Everett's  elbow 
presently,  and  stated  that  he  was  wanted  below.  He 
followed  the  boy  downstairs  to  the  front  hall  where 
he  discovered  Don  Jose  and  the  newcomer. 

"Gail,"  Don  Jose  said,  'T  wish  to  present  you  to 
Mr.  Erik  Tegel,  a  friend  and  business  partner  of 
mine." 

Everett  shook  hands  with  the  stranger.  Face  to 
face  with  him,  he  discovered  that  he  was  even  taller 
than  he  had  thought — a  full  six  feet,  probably.  An 
extraordinarily  grim,  uncompromising  young  man, 
he  decided. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  149 

"I  am  delighted,"  Tegel  remarked,  in  a  bass 
voice  tinged  with  a  foreign  accent,  **to  make  your 
acquaintance."  He  turned  immediately  to  Don  Jose 
with  an  unspoken  question  upon  his  features.  Don 
Jose  shook  his  head,  almost  imperceptibly.  It  was 
all  very  mysterious,  Everett  thought. 

After  a  few  minutes'  polite  conversation  the  two 
of  them  entered  Don  Jose's  library,  leaving  Everett 
to  himself. 

Having  nothing  to  do  at  the  moment  he  strolled 
casually  out  to  the  strip  of  garden  that  lay  between 
the  house  and  the  roadway,  and  there  sat  down 
upon  a  rattan  chair  to  smoke  a  cigarette.  It  so 
happened  that  he  had  seated  himself  not  far  from 
the  arabesqued  window  spaces  of  Don  Jose's 
library,  and  presently  he  heard  voices  from  within. 
They  were  speaking  in  Spanish. 

*'The  boy  does  not  know — ?"  he  heard  Tegel 
asking. 

And  then  Don  Jose's  voice,  quick  and  nervous : 

"Of  course  not  .  .  .  later  on,  maybe,  if  neces- 
sary ...  he  can  be  trusted,  I  think." 

The  voices  drifted  into  an  incoherent  murmuring. 
Lost  in  thought,  he  left  the  garden  and  started  back 
to  his  room.  They  could  trust  him  .  .  .  later  on 
they  would  tell  him.  .  .  .  What  was  brooding  in 
this  strange  house,  anyway?  What  was  it  that 
Don  Jose  was  planning,  planning,  so  meticu- 
lously? .  .  .  His  mind  reverted  to  certain  formless 
phrases  of  Corcovado,  certain  hints  concerning  Don 


ISO  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Jose's  ambitions  for  the  future.  And  then,  all  of 
a  sudden,  the  truth  dawned  upon  him;  the  whole 
thing  became  ridiculously  obvious — a  revolution,  of 
course!  Don  Jose  must  be  aiming  at  some  great 
coup,  a  sudden  and  unexpected  seizure  of  Esper- 
anza*s  governmental  reins,  in  the  manner  so  dear 
to  the  Spanish-American  temperament.  That 
would  explain,  too,  the  incidents  of  the  trip  to  Los 
Barrios;  the  friendliness  of  certain  young  men;  the 
palpable  enmity  of  others — Pinar's  decrepit  agent, 
for  instance,  who  had  shouted  something  abusive 
as  he  passed  them  on  his  mule.  But  who,  then,  was 
Erik  Tegel,  the  European  stranger  who  was  so 
evidently  in  Don  Jose's  good  graces?  His  ponder- 
ing over  this  latest  development  as  he  climbed  the 
broad  stairs  to  his  bedroom,  was  abruptly  cut  short 
by  a  new  surprise — ^the  sound  of  a  woman's  voice 
emanating  from  the  floor  above,  singing  a  soft 
Castilian  ballad ;  the  voice  was  at  once  plaintive  and 
arresting  in  the  sheer  colorfulness  of  its  tones.  He 
stood  stock  still,  gripped  the  banisters. 

He  encountered  Corcovado  descending,  a  sheaf 
of  typewritten  letters  in  his  hand. 

*'Who  is  that  singing?"  he  asked. 

Corcovado  smiled. 

'*Ah!  The  lady's  voice  arouses  my  young 
friend's  curiosity — eh?" 

Everett  almost  disliked  him  at  that  moment. 

*Tt  is  the  voice  of  Bianca  Valdez — Don  Jose's 
niece.      She  lives   in  the   white   villa  beyond  the 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  151 

garden,  and  'as  come  tonight  to  dine  with  Don 
Jose — that  is  all  I  can  tell  you.'* 

"One  never  sees  her,"  Everett  mused,  un- 
consciously voicing  his  thoughts. 

Corcovado  appeared  somewhat  annoyed. 

"Naturally  not.  She  is,  most  of  the  time,  in  her 
villa.  You  would  not  expect  to  see  a  lady  wander- 
ing about  at  all  hours  of  the  day?" 

He  terminated  the  conversation  abruptly  by 
continuing  his  way  down  the  stairs. 

Everett  went  up  to  the  first  floor,  and  turned  into 
the  cool,  narrow  passage  leading  to  his  room.  Quite 
suddenly  he  came  upon  Bianca  Valdez.  In  mutual 
surprise  at  the  encounter  they  stood,  motionless, 
waiting  for  each  other  to  pass;  Everett,  awkward, 
hat  in  hand;  she,  wide-eyed,  confused,  a  hand 
fluttering  nervously  at  the  white  bosom  of  her  dress. 
And  in  the  sombre  blue  half-light  of  the  passage, 
in  that  endless  instant  of  surprise  and  revelation, 
Everett  realized  that  she  was  undeniably  beauti- 
ful. .  .  .  He  had,  it  is  true,  the  merest  glimpse 
of  a  delicate  ivory  face,  a  tall,  supple  figure,  blue- 
black  hair  worn  tightly  about  a  proudly-held  head; 
but  the  memory  of  poignant  hazel  eyes,  gazing 
startled  at  him,  lingered  in  his  mind  long  after  she 
had  vanished  in  the  obscurity  that  lay  at  the  far 
end  of  the  corridor. 


CHAPTER  VII 


A  WEEK  drifted  by,  pleasantly.  Everett  was  kept 
moderately  busy,  sometimes  driving  Don  Jose  about 
Santa  Palma  while  he  called  at  various  houses, 
sometimes  taking  him  for  a  moonlight  ride  along 
the  white  roads  during  the  cool  hours  after  dinner. 
The  novelty  of  this  new  life  appealed  to  him,  yet  he 
feared  that  before  long  the  novelty  would  wear  off, 
and  he  would  be  adrift  once  more — searching  for 
something  new,  as  was  his  way. 

Nothing  occurred  to  break  the  monotony  of  well- 
ordered  routine  until  one  mid-December  morning, 
when  flamboyant  posters,  pasted  on  the  walls  of 
Santa  Palma's  public  buildings,  announced  a  gala 
performance  at  the  Teatro  Municipal  that  evening; 
Carmen  was  to  be  sung  by  a  full  company  from 
the  Opera  of  Mexico  City,  and  President  Pinar  had 
declared  his  attention  of  attending  the  performance. 
Such  events  happened  rarely  enough  in  Santa 
Palma,  and  by  noontime  the  town  was  a  fluttering 
mass  of  green  and  red  banners — the  national  colors 
of  Esperanza.    Corcovado  brought  the  news  up  to 

152 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  153 

the  Casa  Azul  at  the  luncheon  hour,  and  Everett — 
who  happened  to  be  receiving  certain  perfunctory 
instructions  regarding  the  car  from  Don  Jose  when 
he  arrived — saw  the  elder  man's  face  grow  grave. 

"Are  you  certain?"  he  questioned  Corcovado, 
"that  Pinar  himself  will  attend  the  performance?" 

"I  am  certain,"  Corcovado  assured  him.  "The 
news  is  all  over  the  town.  The  presidential  box  is 
being  decorated.  All  the  Ministers  will  be  present, 
too,  I  am  told." 

Don  Jose  received  the  information  with  a  gravity 
that  perplexed  Everett;  he  saw  nothing  unusual  in 
the  fact  of  a  president  attending  an  operatic  per- 
formance in  the  capital  of  the  republic  which  he 
served ;  and  said  so.    Don  Jose  replied  very  quietly : 

"Patience,  my  lad,  patience.  These  things  must 
all  become  clear  to  you,  soon  enough.  All  I  will 
say  is  that  this  viejo  Pinar  is  more  brave  than  I 
was  thinking  he  was." 

Later  on  Corcovado  informed  Everett  that  this 
would  be  Pinar's  first  public  appearance  in  many 
months. 

"But  why?"  Everett  asked,  wholly  puzzled. 
"What  danger  is  there?" 

Corcovado  laughed;  placed  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"As  Don  Jose  'as  told  you,  'ave  patience  and  you 
will  presently  understand.  Pinar  'as  enemies,  and 
those  enemies  are  the  friends  of  Don  Jose.  This 
public  appearance  at  the  Opera  tonight  was  un- 


154  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

expected — what  the  French  call  Vaudcce,  You  sec 
what  I  mean?" 

"A  kind  of  challenge,"  suggested  Everett,  the 
situation  becoming  slightly  clearer  to  him. 

"Exactly.  And  tonight  Don  Jose  will  also  attend 
the  Opera,  in  a  box  opposite  that  of  President 
Pinar.  Don  Jose  is  not  the  man  to  miss  a  glorious 
opportunity;  to  remain  at  home  would  be  to  admit 
that  he  is  of  a  weakness — that  he  is  a  coward.  I 
am  telling  you  all  these  things  which  he  himself 
would  not  tell  you,  because  I  believe  that  no  man 
can  serve  his  master  well  if  he  is  kept  in  the  dark." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Everett,  unimpressed. 

And  then  as  Don  Jose  appeared,  Corcovado  be- 
came hurriedly  absorbed  in  details  of  the  moment. 

" — ^You  will  'ave  the  auto  ready  for  us  at  'alf 
past  seven — eh?  And  during  the  entreacfo,  which 
will  be  about  ten  o'clock,  you  will  report  to  Don 
Jose's  box,  in  case  he  should  desire  to  leave  before 
the  performance  is  over.** 

Another  listless,  idle  afternoon.  The  typewriter 
beyond  the  closed  doors  tapping  out  its  usual 
monotonous  song.  Downstairs,  the  sound  of  mur- 
muring voices;  Don  Jose  engaged  in  earnest, 
subdued  conversation — ^hour  after  hour. 

After  dinner  Don  Jose  appeared  at  the  door  of 
the  house  resplendent  in  white  evening  clothes,  a 
scarlet  ribbon  worn  diagonally  across  the  vast  bosom 
of  his  starched  shirt ;  Corcovado  a  pace  behind  him, 
suave  and  over-mannered.    Tegel,  too,  accompanied 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  155 

them  as  they  climbed  into  the  car ;  he  was  in  f auhless 
English  evening  clothes,  silent  as  ever;  his  mouth 
set  perhaps  a  trifle  more  grimly  than  usual.  Everett, 
as  he  threw  in  the  clutch  and  headed  toward  the 
distant,  trembling  pinpoints  of  light  where  Santa 
Palma  lay,  thought  that  his  passengers  were  indeed 
an  oddly-assorted  trio. 

It  became  evident,  presently,  that  Corcovado  had 
been  drinking.  He  sat  beside  Everett  hatless,  his 
sleek  black  hair  waving  in  the  night  breeze;  his 
cheeks  hectic,  eyes  unduly  bright. 

"Tonight,*'  he  muttered,  "things  may  happen.  .  .  ." 
But  Everett,  intent  upon  the  winding  road,  paid 
little  attention  to  his  rambling  remarks. 


II 

The  fact  of  his  having  to  wait  at  the  wheel  of 
the  car  under  the  tamarinds  of  the  Plaza  Nacional 
throughout  three  hours  of  an  operatic  performance 
brought  home  to  Everett,  more  than  anything  else 
had  done,  his  true  position  in  the  household  of 
Don  Jose;  the  idea  struck  his  sense  of  humor,  but 
his  amusement  was  tinged  with  a  shade  of  irony. 
After  all,  he  thought,  he  had  found  no  adventure 
at  all;  there  was  nothing  inspiring  in  the  business 
of  being  chauflFeur  to  a  citizen  of  an  apparently 
well-ordered  West  Indian  republic ;  it  was,  certainly, 
nothing  to  boast  about  .  .  :  he  was  guilty  of  no 
snobbishness,  but  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  if 


IS6  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

something  did  not  occur  within  the  next  few  weeks 
to  ameliorate  his  position  he  would  leave  the  Casa 
Azul,  wander  to  the  interior  of  the  island  and  find 
occupation,  perhaps,  on  a  plantation. 

Some  few  minutes  after  ten  o'clock — ^as  Corco- 
vado  had  predicted — ^the  entracte  took  place,  and 
crowds  came  streaming  out  of  the  brilliantly  lighted 
foyer  of  the  Teatro  Municipal.  Young  men 
gathered  in  groups  under  the  trees,  lighting  cigar- 
ettes, animatedly  discussing  the  performance;  girls 
in  white  muslin  dresses  promenaded  the  square  in 
trios,  arm  in  arm,  and  as  they  passed,  the  young 
caballeros  eyed  them  with  flirtatious  glances.  From 
within  the  theatre  came  the  sound  of  the  orchestra 
tuning  up,  and  an  overwhelming  babel  of  voices. 
Remembering  his  instructions,  Everett  left  the  car, 
which  was  by  now  the  center  of  an  admiring  group 
of  idlers,  in  charge  of  a  gendarme  and  hurried  into 
the  theatre.  A  uniformed  usher  led  him,  zigzag- 
ging, through  the  crowds  in  the  imitation  marble 
lobby,  and  down  a  sloping,  sombre  passage  to  the 
door  of  a  proscenium  box. 

Don  Jose  was  seated  in  the  front  of  the  box;  in 
one  hand  he  held  an  elaborate  pair  of  opera  glasses, 
with  the  other  he  twirled  his  moustache  ceaselessly 
with  an  air  of  nervous  impatience.  Everett  saw  at 
a  glance  that  all  eyes  in  the  theatre  were  upon  Don 
Jose,  and  in  the  sea  of  white  upturned  faces  he 
fancied  he  detected  an  intangible  spirit  of  deference, 
of   sheer,   silent   admiration.  .  .  .     The   big  man 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  157 

seemed,  outwardly  at  least,  unaware  of  the  attention 
he  was  causing.  In  the  proscenium  box  directly 
opposite,  which — unlike  Don  Jose's  box — was  dec- 
orated with  the  flags  of  Esperanza,  sat  an  old  man 
with  a  pointed  white  beard  and  a  rotund,  barrel-like 
figure ;  his  bald  head  was  nodding  sleepily ;  his  eyes, 
puckered  with  rings  of  superfluous  flesh,  were  lialf 
closed.  Across  his  ample  shirt  front  was  a  string 
of  tinsel-like  medals.  Everett  glanced  at  Don  Jose, 
then  back  at  President  Pinar,  and  the  contrast 
struck  him  forcibly.  Here  was  one  man  still  in  his 
prime,  vital,  alive,  eyes  aglow  with  limitless  am- 
bition; there  was  a  pathetic  old  creature,  already 
touched  with  the  heavy  hand  of  senility,  his  face 
characterless,  his  expression  devoid  of  the  slightest 
semblance  of  interest  in  what  was  going  on  about 
him — a  puppet,  a  glorified  figurehead.  Even  as 
he  watched  he  saw  a  young  officer  seated  behind 
Pinar  prod  him  in  the  back,  whisper  a  sharp  com- 
mand in  his  ear,  whereupon  the  President  of 
Esperanza  sat  up  straight  in  his  chair  with  a  look 
of  pained  astonishment  in  his  faded,  mild  blue  eyes. 
That  little  incident  was  of  itself  more  illuminative 
of  the  Esperanzan  political  situation  than  all  of 
Corcovado's  high-flown  phrases. 

Don  Jose  waved  Everett  away  with  a  gesture  of 
his  jewelled  hand. 

"I  will  not  need  you  until  the  performance  is 
over,"  he  said;  and  Everett,  whose  indignation  had 
risen  hotly  at  the  imperiousness  of  his  tone,  stifled 


IS8  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

his  feelings  in  the  knowledge  that  the  gesture  was 
but  for  the  benefit  of  watching  eyes  in  the  audience. 
He  made  his  way  quietly  toward  the  entrance  of  the 
theatre. 

In  the  foyer  Corcovado  buttonholed  him;  the 
man  was  drunk,  he  saw  immediately;  his  lean,  dark 
face  was  flushed  to  an  unhealthy  crimson,  his  hair 
rumpled,  his  breath  redolent  with  the  sickening 
pungency  of  aguardiente, 

"You  see,  amigo  mio"  he  cried  in  Spanish,  **how 
they  welcome  Don  Jose !  His  power  grows ;  he  be- 
comes famous  from  tonight.  His  success  is 
assured '* 

His  voice  was  shrill;  he  waved  thin  arms. 
Everett,  aware  of  a  curious  group  of  listeners,  tried 
to  calm  him. 

**Shh!"  he  whispered,  taking  Corcovado's  arm. 
"It  isn't  wise  —  to  discuss  these  things  in  pub- 
lic." 

But  Corcovado,  with  all  the  sensitiveness  of  the 
intoxicated,  was  affronted  at  the  gentle  rebuff. 

"Why  should  I  be  quiet  ?"  he  bellowed,  while 
Everett  eyed  the  growing  crowd  about  them  with 
some  concern.  "Right  now,  here  in  the  Teatro 
Municipal  of  Santa  Palma,  I  say  that  Pinar's  day 
is  finished — ^he  is  of  the  past;  a  dead  letter." 

And  then  there  happened  precisely  what  Everett 
feared.  An  officer,  black-browed  and  truculent, 
gaudy  of  uniform,  with  an  immense  sword  dan- 
gling at  his   belt,   elbowed  his  way   through   the 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  159 

gathering   throng,   and   stood    face   to   face   with 
Corcovado. 

*'Have  a  care  what  you  say,  fellow!"  he  cried. 

Corcovado,  throwing  all  caution  aside  now, 
tossed  his  head  defiantly.  He  drew  himself  to  his 
full  height,  cried  out  Pinar's  name  with  immeasur- 
able contempt,  and  followed  it  by  a  short,  virulent 
Spanish  word  which  Everett  did  not  comprehend. 

The  officer  turned  white;  the  crowd  wavered 
back,  aghast.  The  officer  seized  Corcovado  abruptly 
by  the  collar,  summoned  a  gendarme  standing  at 
the  door.  Corcovado  wheeled  upon  him  suddenly, 
struck  him  with  the  flat  of  his  hand,  leaving  a 
scarlet  weal  upon  the  soldier's  dark  cheek.  Everett, 
incredulous,  amazed,  stepped  back  involuntarily 
with  the  crowd.  He  heard  the  rasp  of  a  sword 
blade  against  its  sheath;  saw  a  swift  arc  of  silver 
flash  through  the  smoke-laden  air.  There  was  a 
thud  upon  the  floor;  an  intense,  pregnant  silence. 

He  peered  forward  over  the  shoulders  of  a  man. 
A  woman  screamed.  Something  lay  crumpled,  inert, 
upon  the  black  and  white  tiled  floor,  in  a  growing 
pool  of  crimson;  and  the  battered,  dreadful  thing 
which  had  been  Corcovado's  face  made  him  feel  sud- 
denly and  violently  sick.  ...  A  blinding,  insensate 
rage  swept  over  him  at  the  officer  who  stood  there, 
so  calmly,  replacing  his  scarlet  sword  within  its 
scabbard.  The  foyer  became  a  shrieking  pandemo- 
nium. He  started  toward  the  officer  in  an  access  of 
uncontrolled   fury.  .  .  .  Strong  hands   seized   him 


i6o  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

from  behind;  restrained  him.  He  heard  Tegel's 
voice,  curt  and  incisive,  above  the  clamor  of  the 
mob. 

**Keep  out  of  it.  It  will  do  no  good.  The  mili- 
tary would  kill  you,  too — like  a  dog." 

"But — but — "  He  slowly  fought  down  his  anger 
to  a  more  reasoning  calm.  He  was,  at  the  moment, 
supremely  conscious  of  a  longing  for  the  unterrified 
democracy  of  his  homeland,  where  such  swift,  terri- 
ble things  did  not,  could  not  happen.  " — They 
murdered  him,  Tegel!  Something  must  be  done. 
Something " 

Tegel  shook  his  head. 

"Not  now — but  our  time  will  come.  Hurry  now 
to  the  car.  Don  Jose  has  just  slipped  out  of  a  side 
door.    We  must  find  him." 

He  led  Everett  firmly  out  into  the  moonlight.  The 
Plaza  was  packed  with  a  swaying,  shrieking  mass  of 
humanity;  gendarmes  were  running  up  and  down, 
swords  rattling,  trying  to  stem  the  rising  tide  of 
fury.  No  one,  apparently,  noticed  Tegel  and  Everett 
as  they  hurried  under  the  trees  to  the  car;  climbed 
in. 

Don  Jose  was  not  there. 

"He  is  probably  waiting  for  us  in  the  street  back 
of  the  theatre,"  Tegel  suggested.  "He  is  too  wise 
to  play  into  the  hands  of  these  blunderers." 

Everett  started  the  car,  not  yet  trusting  himself 
to  speak.  His  gaze  was  riveted  upon  a  pair  of  sol- 
diers who,  in  the  white  glare  of  the  arc  lights  before 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  i6i 

the  theatre,  were  carrying  a  limp,  bloodstained  bur- 
den toward  a  waiting  wagon. 

''Viva  Pinar!"  someone  shouted  from  the  black- 
ness beneath  the  tamarind  trees. 

And  instantly,  a  dozen  or  more  defiant  voices 
thundered  back: 

''Viva  Don  Jose  .  .  .  Viva  los  Valientes!" 

Stones  came  hurtling  through  the  night  air; 
crashed  with  a  resounding  impact  against  the  plas- 
ter walls  of  the  theatre.  Angry  altercations  rose, 
here  and  there,  in  the  compact,  surging  mass  of 
humanity.  Everett,  proceeding  at  a  cautious  pace, 
turned  the  car  down  a  side  street  and  into  merciful, 
silent  darkness. 

They  discovered  Don  Jose,  presently,  waiting  near 
the  back  of  the  theatre  for  them.  His  self-posses- 
sion, as  he  lighted  an  immense  cigar  before  taking 
his  seat  in  the  tonneau,  was  intact. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


^When  they  reached  the  Casa  Azul  Don  Jose,  to 
Everett's  surprise,  beckoned  to  both  Tegel  and  him- 
self to  follow  him  into  the  library.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  Everett  had  been  in  the  room ;  he  found  it 
a  comfortable  chamber,  softly  lighted,  furnished 
with  shallow  armchairs  of  Russian  leather,  tables 
laden  with  books  and  magazines  of  an  international 
character;  the  sombre,  cool  gray  walls  were  lined 
with  low  bookcases,  and — ^here  and  there — an  etch- 
ing, or  .a  mezzotint,  of  irreproachable  taste.  Don 
Jose  closed  the  door  softly,  motioned  to  them  to  be 
seated,  and  drew  up  an  armchair  for  himself.  The 
mellow  rays  of  a  reading  lamp  upon  a  circular  ma- 
hogany table  fell  obliquely  upon  his  features,  cast- 
ing his  incisive  profile  in  sharp  relief  against  the 
black  shadow  of  an  angle  in  the  wall  behind  him. 
He  was  outwardly  calm.  This  very  armor  of  im- 
passivity which  he  could  seemingly  command  at 
will  was,  Everett  thought,  one  of  his  most  striking 
traits. 

He  addressed  them  both  in  English  in  soft,  modu- 
162 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  163 

lated  tones — ^his  voice  barely  above  a  whisper — and 
while  he  talked  his  fingers  beat  a  gentle  tattoo  upon 
the  surface  of  the  table,  which  alone  betrayed  the 
nervous  tension  within  him. 

"When  I  heard  what  had  happened,"  he  began, 
"I  left  the  theatre  by  the  back  way — not  because  I 
feared  to  face  anyone,  but  because  I  did  not  wish  to 
endanger  our  cause  in  case  those  niilitares  should 
begin  to  ask  questions  of  me." 

He  paused;  dipped  his  slender  fingers  into  a  jade 
box  containing  cigarettes  that  lay  upon  the  table,  and 
lighted  one  with  careful  deliberation. 

"The  death  of  Corcovado  has,  however,  made  a 
change  in  our  plans.  It  must,  of  a  certainty,  lead  to 
quicker  action  on  our  part.  Indeed,  it  seems  to  me 
that  it  gives  us  the  required  excuse  for  such  action." 

"How?"  Tegel  asked  sharply. 

Don  Jose  smiled. 

"Why — we  demand  an  apology  from  Pinar,  of 
course." 

"It  was  a  terrible  thing,"  Everett  remarked  sud- 
denly, feeling  that  it  was  time  for  someone  to  express 
sympathy. 

Don  Jose  looked  at  him  curiously,  almost  as  if 
he  were  for  the  first  time  aware  of  his  presence.  He 
nodded  in  a  perfunctory  way. 

"Yes — ^that  was  too  bad.  But  Corcovado,  you  see, 
was  bound  to  come  to  such  an  end.  He  talked  too 
much.  Many  times  did  I  warn  him  of  that.  He  was 
a  fool,  and  yet — and  yet  he  served  his  purpose.    He 


i64  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

was  useful,  in  a  way,  that  talkative  young  man  ..." 

Listening  to  those  words  Everett  obtained,  illum- 
inatingly,  a  fresh  insight  into  Don  Jose  character. 
His  indignation  at  the  cool  acceptance  of  Corco- 
vado^s  brutal  murder  was  tempered  with  a  faint 
but  wholly  irrepressible  admiration.  It  was  of  such 
fibre,  such  implacability,  he  felt,  that  great  men  were 
made.  ... 

**Now  that  Corcovado  is  gone,"  Don  Jose  con- 
tinued, "I  have  no  secretary;  he  was  valuable  in  that 
respect " 

He  broke  off,  regarding  Everett  thoughtfully. 

"Can  you  typewrite?" 

Everett  nodded  uneasily. 

"Good.  Then  I  think  you  shall  take  the  place  of 
Corcovado.  It  will  be  better  for  you  also.  To  drive 
the  automobile  is  not  a  worthy  occupation  for  a 
young  man  of  your  intelligence.  I  will  put  the  negro, 
Hoya,  back  in  his  old  place  as  chauffeur." 

Tegel  interrupted,  frowning. 

"Is — is  this  young  man  in  your  complete  confi- 
dence?" he  enquired. 

The  question  seemed,  momentarily,  to  perplex 
Don  Jose. 

"Ah !  That  is  so — an  important  point  I  had  for- 
gotten. How  much  of  our  affairs  do  you  know, 
Gail  ?    Answer  me  this  thing  frankly." 

Everett  outlined  briefly  the  hints  Corcovado  had 
now  and  then  dropped  to  him,  together  with  his  own 
surmise  of  the  situation,  gathered  from  his  observa- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  165 

tion  of  the  natives'  behavior  in  the  presence  of  Don 
Jose. 

**So  you  see,"  he  concluded,  "I  have  only  the 
vaguest  idea  of  your  plan.  Fm  pretty  sure  that  a 
revolution  is  in  the  air,  but  Fm  ignorant  of  details. 
I  don't  even  know — "  he  laughed  a  trifle  nervously, 
— "who  Mr.  Tegel  is,  where  he  comes  from,  and 
what  he  is  here  for." 

Don  Jose  glided  over  this  hint  for  some  informa- 
tion concerning  Tegel  hurriedly — unsatisfactorily, 
Everett  thought. 

"Mr.  Tegel  is  my  chief  assistant,  my  right-hand 
man,  as  you  Americans  say.  And  now,  my  young 
amigo,  if  you  wish  to  throw  in  your  fortune  with 
ours  we  will  be  most  glad  to  have  you  with  us — but 
you  must,  first  of  all,  give  the  promise  of  secrecy. 
I  will  say  this  of  you  Anglo-Saxons :  that  most  of 
you  keep  the  word  once  it  has  been  given.  Come 
now,  what  do  you  say?" 

After  a  moment's  deliberation  Everett  said : 

"Fll  go  through  this  affair  with  you,  but  on  one 
condition.  When  it's  over,  whether  you've  suc- 
ceeded or  failed,  Fm  to  be  released  without  further 
obligations." 

"You  have  the  business  head,  my  young  man. 
Bueno — I  think  we  can  promise  that." 

"Fll  have  it  written,"  Everett  added  calmly,  "if 
you  please." 

''Caramba!*'  Don  Jose's  brow  was  clouded  with 
sudden  irritation.     He  looked  at  Everett,  neverthe- 


i66  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

less,  with  a  new  show  of  interest.  "It  is  strange  that 
I,  Don  Jose  Rodriguez,  must  have  my  terms  dictated 
to  me  by  a  mere  lad " 

''Business  is  business,"  Everett  said,  thoroughly 
enjoying  the  situation ;  and  airily  lighted  a  cigarette. 

Tegel  jumped  up. 

"I  suggest  you  cease  to  trouble  yourself  about 
this  young  gentleman,  sir,"  he  said  hotly.  "You  can 
always  get  a  good  secretary  at  Santa  Palma  to  fill 
Corcovado's  place." 

"N-no,"  Don  Jose  replied,  shaking  his  great  head. 
"That  would  be  impossible,  Tegel.  If  I  should  try 
to  obtain  a  secretary  from  Santa  Palma  these  days 
how  could  I  be  assured  that  he  was  not  a  Federalist 

spy?" 

He  rose  from  his  chair  with  an  air  of  resignation 
and  strolled  toward  a  desk  in  a  far  corner  of  the 
room ;  then  beckoned  to  Everett. 

"Come,  Meester  Gail,"  he  said,  with  a  wholly 
ironical  politeness,  "this  contract  which  you  con- 
sider of  such  an  importance.  How  shall  the  terms 
of  it  be?" 

Thus  mockingly  did  he  cover  his  acquiescence  to 
Everett's  request. 

II 

At  midnight  Tegel  retired.  Don  Jose  and  Everett 
were  left  alone.  Everett  sat  very  still  in  his  arm- 
chair waiting,  while  the  older  man  moved  deliber- 
ately about  the  room  gathering  a  book  and  a  paper 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  167 

here  and  there,  several  maps  which  he  folded  care- 
fully. Presently  he  resumed  his  seat  near  Everett, 
laid  the  collected  paraphernalia  upon  the  table. 

"I  trust  you,"  he  began  simply.  "I  know  your 
type.  Travel  and  long  experience  has  made  me 
familiar  with  different  kinds  of  men.  For  this 
reason  I  feel  that  I  can,  without  danger,  put  before 
you  the  outlines  of  my  plan.  But,  first  of  all,  I  shall 
explain  to  you  my  motives,  for  I  am  of  the  opinion 
that  no  man  can  put  to  use  his  full  ability  unless  he 
is  personally  convinced  that  his  cause  is  a  righteous 
one.    Is  that  not  the  truth  ?" 

Youthfully,  Everett  could  not  resist  putting  in  a 
hint  of  a  counter  argument  as  it  occurred  to  him. 

'The  German  cause  was  not  right,"  he  suggested, 
"yet  they  certainly  extended  themselves  to  their  full 
capacity " 

Don  Jose  waved  an  impatient  hand. 

"Precisamente.  But  I  did  not  say  that  the  cause 
was,  of  a  necessity,  one  of  justice.  I  said  that  the 
man  who  worked  for  that  cause  had  to  be,  himself, 
convinced  of  its  justice — no  matter  whether  he  was 
right  or  wrong.    And  now  to  this  business " 

He  sketched  briefly,  with  an  admirable  conciseness 
and  choice  of  words,  the  history  of  Esperanza.  He 
told  of  its  greatness  in  the  eighteenth  and  early  nine- 
teenth century  under  the  sway  of  the  Rodriguez 
clan;  he  outlined  the  failure  of  Juan  the  Second  to 
come  up  to  the  country^s  expectations;  his  weak- 
nesses; the  revolution  and  the  ensuing  decay  of  Es- 


i68  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

peranza.  He  grew  mordant,  bitterly  sarcastic,  as 
he  portrayed  the  national  industries  of  coffee,  sugar 
and  tobacco  falling  from  their  pristine  importance 
to  a  mere  shadow  of  what  they  had  once  been.  He 
went  on  to  tell  of  the  corruption  of  the  present 
government,  a  combination  of  politicians  and  the 
military  caste,  which  had  been  in  power  for  seven 
long  years.  Pinar,  it  appeared,  was  but  a  figure- 
head; the  others  were  piling  tax  upon  tax  upon  the 
people,  filling  their  own  pockets,  not  spending  a 
penny  towards  the  improvement  of  the  nation.  Only 
recently  they  had  passed  in  the  Senado  a  bill,  limit- 
ing national  elections  to  every  ten  years,  thereby  as- 
suring themselves  of  comfortable  nests  for  some 
time  to  come.  When  elections  did  take  place,  Don 
Jose  asserted,  there  seemed  to  be  no  integrity  what- 
ever amongst  those  conducting  the  ballot  system.  .  .  . 
As  a  result  of  these  things  the  population  was  rap- 
idly becoming  ambitionless,  fatalistic — without  hope. 
"But  the  spirit  is  there  still,"  he  concluded,  wax- 
ing enthusiastic.  *Tinar's  clique  make  their  worst 
mistake  when  they  conclude  that  they  are  ruling  a 
spineless,  degenerate  people.  I,  myself,  have  had 
the  proof,  again  and  again,  that  they  are  wrong. 
And  the  greatest  proof  is  that  twenty-five  thousand 
men — young  men,  too,  strong  and  alert — have 
pledged  themselves  to  my  cause.  They  have  called 
themselves  the  Valientes — brave,  splendid  fellows 
who  will,  in  one  glorious  sweep  of  arms,  bring  to 
Esperanza  a  new  regime  of  honesty  and  progress." 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  169 

" Valient es,"  murmured  Everett.  "Fve  heard  the 
word  before." 

*'Yes,  that  is  the  battle  cry  of  my  party.  For 
many,  many  months  I  have  worked,  and  my  brave 
agents  have  worked,  sowing  the  seeds  of  this  great 
movement.  When  the  day  comes — and  pray  God 
it  will  soon — "  he  crossed  himself  devoutly  " — these 
Valientes  of  the  Liberationist  party  will  rise,  under 
my  leadership.  Others,  who  shall  observe  their  suc- 
cess and  shall  wish  to  be  on  the  winning  side  (the 
world  is  full  of  such  creatures  lacking  initiative  of 
their  own)  will  join  them.  In  less  than  twenty-four 
hours  the  wretched  Federalists  will  be  crushed,  and 
Esperanza  will  be  free." 

*'How  about  arms?"  Everett  asked. 

Don  Jose  flashed  him  a  glance  of  approval. 

'Ten  thousand  rifles,  and  ammunition  for 
them,  one  hundred  and  twenty  machine  guns,  are 
already  hidden  upon  this  island.  Another  such 
quantity  is  expected  by  a  second  shipment  at 
any  time.  It  is  for  that,  personally,  that  I  am 
waiting." 

Innocently  Everett  enquired : 

''Who  is  supplying  all  this  stuff?" 

It  seemed  to  him  that  Don  Jose  was  peculiarly 
perturbed  by  the  question.  He  hesitated;  his  an- 
swer was  evasive. 

"The  money  was  gathered  by  secret  subscription 
— ^and  then,  of  course,  my  entire  personal  fortune  is 
also  involved." 


I70  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

He  took  up  a  brightly  colored  map  from  the  table. 

**And  now  a  little  geography  to  follow  our  history 
lesson,  so  that  my  young  friend  shall  be  master  of 
the  situation." 

He  tapped  the  map  with  a  pencil. 

**This  is  Esperanza,  one  hundred  miles  long, 
eighty  miles  across  at  its  widest  point.  Here,  in  the 
centre  of  the  northern  coast,  is  Santa  Palma,  the 
capital  and  the  seat  of  government.  There,  in  the 
centre  of  the  southern  coast,  is  Los  Barrios,  a  sea- 
port and  headquarters  garrison — the  home  of  the 
military  caste.  You  see,  therefore,  that  no  political 
party  can  exist  if  it  is  not  in  full  control  of  both 
these  towns;  the  one  is  useless  without  the  other. 
Between  Santa  Palma  and  Los  Barrios  is  the  Camino 
Real,  the  great  road  over  which  we  travelled  some 
days  ago. 

''As  to  the  other  towns,  there  are  none  of 
importance  except  Rivadavia  on  the  eastern  coast, 
the  centre  of  the  coffee  industry.  The  Rivadavians 
may  cause  us  trouble;  my  agents^  have,  frankly, 
made  little  progress  amongst  them.  They  support 
the  present  government  because  there  are  many 
Rivadavians  in  the  Cabinet,  who  look  after  the 
coffee  interests  since  it  pays  them  to  do  it.  There 
is  a  railway  between  Santa  Palma  and  this  Riv- 
adavia which  was  built  by  the  French  in  1890 — it 
has  never  paid.  When  my  party  is  in  power  it 
will  be  made  government  property.  Still,  I  am 
not  worrying  about   Rivadavia;   when  the   whole 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  171 

country  has  swung  to  our  side  that  miserable  town 
will  be  easily  conquered." 

Everett  asked  whether  the  Federalists  had  a 
large  army  to  support  them. 

"Barely  ten  thousand,  but  they  are  fairly  well 
trained  and  their  officers  are  good.  However,  as 
there  is  compulsory  military  service  of  one  year  for 
all  men  in  this  country,  my  own  followers  have  all 
had  some  training.  And  at  present  they  are  being 
drilled,  instructed  secretly,  under  a  new  European 
system.     Tegel  attends  to  that " 

He  paused  abruptly  as  someone  tapped  upon  the 
door  of  the  library. 


Ill 

Everett  turned  quickly  in  his  chair  as  Bianca 
Valdez  came  into  the  room.  An  involuntary  ripple 
of  annoyance  crossed  Don  Jose's  brow,  but  he 
banished  it  swiftly  as  he  rose  to  greet  his  niece.  For 
a  moment  the  two  of  them  conversed  rapidly  in  low 
voices  while  Everett,  listening,  heard  the  name  of 
Corcovado  uttered  several  times,  and  saw  her  eyes 
widen  with  horror  as  Don  Jose  told  her  the  news. 

"Allow  me,"  said  Don  Jose,  turning  suddenly 
towards  him,  "to  introduce  my  friend  and  secretary, 
Mr.  Everett  Gail.  This  is  my  niece,  Senora 
Valdez." 

Then  she  was  married.  He  was,  for  the  instant, 
absurdly  taken  aback.     He  shook  hands  with  her; 


172  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

she  spoke  to  him  in  fauhless  English,  tinged  with 
the  faintest  possible  blurr  of  an  accent. 

*'I  am  glad/'  she  said,  ''that  you  are  with  us. 
Poor  Corcovado.  .  .  .  Without  a  secretary  my 
uncle  would  be  helpless;  he  has  always  such  heaps 
of  work  to  be  done." 

She  sat  down,  with  instinctive  grace,  in  an  arm- 
chair, eyeing  him  with  a  cool,  impersonal  scrutiny. 
Then  she  saw  the  outspread  maps,  the  scattered 
books  upon  the  table. 

'T'm  afraid  I'm  interrupting — "  she  remarked; 
her  voice  whimsical,  almost  contemptuous.  It  was 
clear  to  Everett  that  she,  in  her  aloof  detachment, 
had  but  little  interest  in  her  uncle's  magnificent  plans. 

Don  Jose  denied  the  suggestion,  good  naturedly. 

"No.  We  have  talked  enough  about  our  plans 
for  tonight.  Mr.  Gail,  I  am  satisfied,  will  be  an 
asset  to  my  venture.  And  now,  let  us  talk  of 
pleasanter  things.  What  have  you  been  doing,  my 
dear?  It  is  almost  a  week  since  I  last  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you." 

She  answered  slowly,  lazily,  her  eyes  resting  on 
Everett  in  a  kind  of  mute  speculation.  She  had 
been  in  her  villa,  she  said,  most  of  the  time ;  it  was 
too  hot  to  go  out  very  much.  Once  or  twice  she 
had  been  down  to  Santa  Palma  to  do  some  shopping ; 
she  had  also  ridden  out  to  visit  her  little  sugar  plan- 
tation near  the  village  of  Cristobal.  She  spoke 
with  a  quiet  reserve,  an  intangible  aloofness — as  if 
she  were,  in  some  way,  remote  from  the  world  and 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  173 

its  doings;  there  was  about  her  an  air  of  gentle 
resignation.  Everett  guessed,  suddenly,  that  she 
had  suffered;  had  been  through,  perhaps,  some 
great,  even  heartbreaking  trouble.  .  .  . 

As  she  sat  there  before  him,  her  softly-moulded 
chin  resting  in  one  cupped  hand,  listening  to  Don 
Jose's  polite,  perfunctory  conversation,  Everett 
studied  her  furtively.  He  liked  especially  her  nar- 
rowed, slightly  oblique  hazel  eyes,  lazily  half-closed; 
the  blue-black  hair  that  rippled  back  from  her  temples 
and  was  worn  closely  about  her  well-shaped  head — 
hair  that  gleamed  in  the  rays  of  the  lamplight,  just 
as  the  patent  leather  tips  of  her  quite  perfect  little 
white  shoes  gleamed,  too.  There  was  an  immacu- 
late, indescribable  freshness  to  her;  a  faultless 
perfection  of  attire. 

He  speculated  in  haphazard  fashion  upon  her 
age.  She  was  young,  and  yet  old  at  the  same  time — 
certainly  young  in  the  sheer  unlined  beauty  of  her 
features,  the  lithe,  superb  grace  of  her  supple 
figure;  but  old  in  the  unfathomable  depths  of  her 
poignant  hazel  eyes.  She  must  be  between  twenty- 
five  and  thirty,  he  concluded  eventually.  He  felt, 
curiously  enough,  that  age  was  with  her  a  static 
thing;  that  she  had  always  been  as  old  as  she  was, 
but  that  she  would  remain  forever  young.  .  .  . 

Once  she  detected  his  eyes  fastened  upon  her  in 
unconsciously  patent  admiration  and  a  faint  flush 
crept  to  the  soft  curve  of  her  cheek,  only  to 
heighten  her  vivid  youth. 


174  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Before  she  rose  to  leave  she  whispered  something 
to  Don  Jose  in  quick,  sibilant  Spanish.  He  nodded. 
She  turned  to  Everett,  extending  a  cool,  friendly 
hand. 

**Some  day,"  she  said,  "when  time  is  idle  on  your 
hands — my  uncle  cannot  keep  you  forever  at  work — 
you  must  come  over  and  see  my  villa,  which  is  just 
beyond  the  wall  at  the  back  of  the  garden.  I  have 
a  few  things  there  that  may  interest  you — many 
English  books,  for  instance." 

She  nodded  lightly  and  was  gone.  In  the  room 
there  still  lingered  the  faintest  perceptible  scent 
of  jasmine. 

Don  Jose  turned  out  the  lamps  gravely,  one  by 
one. 

"A  lovely  woman,"  he  remarked  dispassionately, 
*' — but  one  w^hom  the  world  treated  harshly  indeed." 

That  was  all  the  information  he  was  apparently 
inclined  to  vouch,  and  Everett  was  for  the  moment 
too  wise  to  further  question  him^ 


CHAPTER  IX 


Another  fortnight  passed,  serenely  and  without 
undue  incident.  Everett  soon  discovered  that  in 
his  new  capacity  he  had  Httle  or  no  time  left  to 
indulge  in  the  luxury  of  his  own  thoughts.  Indeed, 
the  business  of  being  a  secretary  assumed  greater 
proportions  than  he  could  possibly  have  anticipated ; 
there  was  an  immense  variety  to  his  work — and 
that,  he  considered,  was  wholly  in  his  favor. 
Sometimes  Don  Jose  would  spend  the  whole  day 
in  the  library,  dictating  slowly  and  carefully  to  him 
in  Spanish  while  he  sat  at  the  typewriter;  his 
knowledge  of  the  language,  he  found,  was  increas- 
ing rapidly  these  days.  The  dictation  covered  a 
variety  of  subjects — men  and  munitions;  advance- 
ment of  money;  the  training  of  recruits.  These 
letters,  or  rather  bulletins,  were  despatched  to 
agents  in  different  parts  of  Esperanza  by  means 
of  messengers  who  appeared  occasionally,  at  almost 
any  hour  of  the  day  or  night,  guised  as  the  most 
innocent  of  peasants.  And  then,  again,  there  were 
maps  to  be  reproduced,  for  which  purpose  Don  Jose 

175 


176  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

supplied  him  with  a  curious,  old-fashioned  gelatin 
copying  machine  which  he  nicknamed  The  Jelly- 
fish .  .  .  maps  which  were  divided  into  mysterious 
squares  called  cadres,  these  squares  containing  in- 
numerable figures  and  cabalistic  signs,  the  meanings 
of  which  were  never  precisely  clear  in  Everett's 
mind.  Apart  from  all  these  things,  matters  of 
daily  routine,  Don  Jose  indulged  in  a  correspon- 
dence of  his  own — long  letters  penned  in  his  own 
flowing  hand  which  Everett  was  never  permitted 
to  read,  and  which,  when  completed,  were  placed 
in  a  locked  portfolio  of  limp  leather,  ultimately  to 
be  handed  to  Tegel  Where  these  letters  went 
Everett  could  not  guess;  he  was  aware  that  Don 
Jose  received  once  in  a  while,  through  Tegel,  vol- 
uminous letters  bearing  foreign  stamps,  but  these 
were  so  hurriedly  concealed  from  him  that  he  was 
unable  to  determine  their  origin.  He  found  him- 
self wondering  as  to  why  Don  Jose  did  not  take 
him  completely  into  his  confidence;  yet  he  held  his 
peace,  feeling  that  he  would  eventually  learn  what 
he  wanted  to  know  by  maintaining  an  incurious 
silence.  It  was  not  in  the  big  man's  character,  he 
knew,  to  pander  to  an  idle  inquisitiveness. 

On  one  occasion,  when  Don  Jose  had  gone  for 
the  day  to  Los  Barrios  by  himself,  he  accidentally 
discovered  in  one  of  the  library  bookcases  a  file  of 
catalogues  and  estimates  relating  to  a  new  type  of 
water-cooled  machine  gun.  The  wording  was  in 
atrocious     Spanish,     and — singularly    enough — the 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  177 

name  of  the  manufacturing  firm  had  been  carefully 
obliterated  from  every  document  by  an  application 
of  opaque  copying  ink.  This,  too,  set  him  to 
wondering. 

Late  one  afternoon  when  his  services  were  not 
required  by  Don  Jose,  he  suddenly  recalled  Bianca 
Valdez's  invitation  and,  shortly  after  five  o'clock, 
strolled  through  the  garden,  passed  through  a  gate 
in  the  scarlet  wall  of  bourgainvillea,  and  entered 
the  grounds  of  her  villa.  It  was  a  trim,  square, 
unadorned  little  house  possessing  an  indefinable  air 
of  neatness.  His  summons  at  the  door  was 
answered  by  a  curtsying  ebony  servant  girl,  who 
ushered  him  into  the  house  with  a  certain  amount 
of  deference  mingled  with  a  pop-eyed  curiosity 
which  she  did  not  attempt  to  conceal. 

He   found   himself    in   a   low-ceilinged,   narrow 

living  room,   the   windowless  archways   of   which, 

overlooking  the   garden,  were   sheltered   from  the 

slanting  afternoon   sun  by  straw-colored   curtains 

that  billowed  gently  in  the  soft  breeze.     The  walls 

of  the  room  were  of  a  creamy  tone,  adorned  here 

and  there  with  wide-margined  marine  pastels;  the 

furniture  was  of  lustreless  white  rattan,  light  and 

comfortable,  cushioned  in  chintz.     On  a  circular 

table,  in  a  shadowy  corner,  there  was  a  famille  de 

rose  bowl  filled  to  overflowing  with  delicate  pink 

pomegranate    blossoms;    a    paper-covered    French 

novel  or  two,  and  some  sewing  materials  in  a  happy, 

careless  little  heap — a  very  feminine  room  indeed; 
12 


178  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

homelike,  yet  rather  gravely  formal  in  its  utter 
simplicity. 

She  came  in,  presently,  from  the  brick  terrace  of 
the  garden,  her  arms  laden  with  flowers,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  greet  him  with  such  a  wholly  natural,  un- 
affected pleasure  that  he  was  almost  immediately  at 
his  ease. 

They  talked.  She  wanted  to  know  many  little 
things  about  New  York  and  the  United  States;  to 
which  country  she  had  never  been — but  studiously 
seemed  to  avoid  asking  him  any  questions  about 
himself.  As  she  chatted  easily  and  lightly  upon 
a  variety  of  subjects  it  became  increasingly  evident 
to  him  that  here  was  a  woman  of  unusual  edu- 
cation, refinement  of  taste;  of  rare  and  delicate 
perception. 

''Where,"  he  asked,  amazed,  "did  you  learn  to 
speak  English  so  perfectly?" 

She  sighed  faintly;  nervously  plucked  a  stray 
thread  from  the  embroidery  of  her  white  dress. 

"In  Paris  and  London,"  she  told  him.  "I  lived 
in  Europe,  was  educated  there  for  six  years.  After 
that  I  returned  here,  to  Santa  Palma — and  was 
married." 

She  ended  the  sentence  with  an  odd  little  jerk, 
uttering  the  last  word  with  a  faint  but  palpable 
irony  which  was  accentuated  by  a  sudden  down- 
ward twist  of  her  sensitive  lips;  and,  somehow,  she 
conveyed  very  clearly  to  Everett  that  she  preferred 
not  to  speak,  or  even  think,  of  the  past.    He  found 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  179 

himself  pondering,  for  the  second  time  since  he  had 
made  her  acquaintance,  as  to  what  had  happened 
to  her;  why  in  all  the  fullness  of  her  youth  and 
beauty  she  constantly  gave  him  that  intangible 
impression  of  resignation.  ...  He  collected  his 
wandering  thoughts  together  with  a  start  at  the 
sound  of  her  voice,  continuing: 

"Do  you  really  think  you  are  going  to  benefit,*' 
she  was  asking  him  with  a  peculiar  deliberation, 
*'by  going  through  this — this  wild  venture  with 
Don  Jose?  How  can  you  be  interested  in  the  do- 
ings of  this  futile  little  country?  Why  don't  you 
go  home  now,  while  you  are  free  to  go.  In  a  week, 
perhaps,  there  will  be  no  possibility  of  leaving 
Santa  Palma,  until  this  horrible  revolution  is 
settled." 

His  young  vanity  was  promptly  and  absurdly 
wounded;  but  this  was  in  turn  succeeded  by  a  sense 
of  curiosity  as  to  her  motives  for  the  suggestion. 

"I  might  as  well  stay  on,"  he  replied  negligently. 
"I'd  like  to  go  through  a  thing  like  that — a  revolu- 
tion; be  right  in  the  thick  of  it — next  to  the  very 
maker  of  it,  in  fact.  Life's  pretty  prosaic  these 
days,  you  know,  up  home.  Work  all  day,  of  the 
dullest  kind,  and  a  little  standardized  amusement 
at  night.  Routine,  that's  all  it  amounts  to.  I'm 
afraid  I  wasn't  cut  out  for  that  kind  of  thing; 
that's  why  I  left — in  search  of  adventure,  excite- 
ment, something  new " 

He  broke  off,  a  trifle  ashamed  at  his  outburst 


i8o  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

of  confidence.  She  laughed  softly,  yet  in  a  way 
not  to  annoy  him. 

"One  can  see  that  you  are  still  very  young,"  she 
remarked,  smiling.  '*I  only  wish  that  I  had  some 
of  your — ^your  eagerness  left  in  me.  I  would  like 
to  feel  that  Life,  after  all,  had  something  to  offer 
to  the  seekers.  .  .  .  When  I  was  your  age  I  felt 
the  same  way  as  you,  though '* 

He  flushed  uncomfortably,  and  was  more  youth- 
ful than  ever  when  he  assured  her  that  she  could 
be  but  very  little  older  than  he. 

"Perhaps  not — in  actual  years,"  she  admitted, 
coloring  prettily.  Then  she  tossed  her  head  with 
a  little  gesture  of  impatience.  "However,  I  must 
not  depress  you.  That  would  not  be  very  tactful, 
would  it,  upon  your  very  first  visit  to  my  villa?" 

The  subtle  conveyance  that  she  expected  him  to 
come  again — perhaps  even  frequently — ^pleased  him 
and  promptly  restored  to  him  his  diminishing 
equanimity.  To  his  surprise  then,  she  rang  a  bell, 
and  coffee  was  brought  by  the  negro  girl  upon  a 
silver  tray,  with  delicate,  flowered  china  and  gleam- 
ing damask. 

And  so  they  chatted  on,  until  the  shadow  beneath 
the  white  wall  between  the  two  gardens  lengthened 
and  grew  dim,  and  a  pale  flaccid  moon  loomed  in 
the  almost  colorless  evening  sky.  In  one  of  the 
archways  overlooking  the  brick  terrace  a  crested 
yellow  and  crimson  cockatoo  balanced  itself  first 
on  one  claw,  then  on  the  other,  with  the  monotony 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  i8i 

of  a  pendulum;  performed  restless  acrobatic  feats 
upon  the  bars  of  its  gilded  cage;  shattered  the 
warm  stillness  of  the  room  now  and  again  with  a 
harsh,  metallic  screech. 

As  Everett  rose  to  leave  Bianca  Valdez  caught 
his  eyes  wandering  towards  the  ebony  grand  piano, 
its  top  draped  in  old  rose  brocade,  that  stood  un- 
obtrusively in  an  alcove  beyond  the  room. 

"You  like  music?" 

"Yes,"  said  Everett.  "I've  heard  your  voice, 
too,  in  the  distance.     It  was  very  beautiful." 

"When  you  come  again,"  she  told  him,  "perhaps 
I'll  sing  for  you.    Let  it  be  soon,  won't  you?" 

She  accompanied  him  to  the  door;  and,  had  he 
glanced  back  as  he  hurried  through  the  dusk  be- 
neath the  overhanging  palms,  he  would  have  seen 
her  gazing  after  him,  her  eyes  suddenly  wistful. 

II 

Several  more  visits  to  Santa  Palma  in  the  merci- 
less, blasting  heat  of  the  noon  hours  gradually 
dispelled  from  his  mind  his  early  and  more  en- 
thusiastic impressions  of  the  place.  Whereas  he 
had,  at  first,  been  absorbed  in  the  tropic  setting,  the 
color  and  glamor  of  native  life,  the  hundred  and 
one  glimpses  of  a  universe  that  was  new  and 
strange  to  him,  he  had  by  now  become  accustomed 
to  these  things,  become  acclimatized,  and  his  super- 
ficial enthusiasms  were  succeeded  by  a  truer  sense 


i82  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

of  perspective.  He  became  acutely  aware  of  the 
intense,  deadening  squalor  of  the  native  quarters, 
the  indifference  and  slovenliness  of  the  people.  For 
exactly  four  hours  in  the  day — from  seven  in  the 
morning  until  eleven — Santa  Palma  appeared  to  be 
a  busy,  thriving  town;  from  eleven  o'clock  onward, 
as  the  sun  increased  in  intensity,  the  inhabitants 
disappeared  within  their  houses;  the  streets  became 
desert  spaces  of  broiling  cobblestones  and  yielding, 
steaming  asphalt.  In  the  evening,  towards  six, 
there  would  be  a  sudden  reversion  to  life;  jalousies 
would  be  thrown  open  with  a  clatter  throughout 
the  town;  men,  women  and  children  would  come 
straggling  out  into  the  plazas  for  their  evening 
promenade.  They  seemed  to  Everett  an  ambition- 
less  people — polite  and  rather  pleasant  to  deal  with, 
but  lacking  in  energy.  Don  Jose  had  assured  him 
that  they  possessed  a  strong,  coherent  sense  of 
patriotism,  a  fervent  desire  for  betterment  of  their 
condition;  of  this  he  was  inclined  to  be  sceptical. 
— The  revolution,  at  any  rate,  would  supply  the 
answer. 

Don  Jose  went  about  everywhere  in  his  car  un- 
molested, Everett  often  with  him,  Hoya,  the  negro, 
at  the  wheel.  Once  in  a  while  there  would  be  a 
welcoming  word  shouted  by  some  exceptionally 
ardent  member  of  the  populace  as  they  passed  by  a 
bodega — as  a  result  of  which  Don  Jose,  in  a  spirit 
of  caution,  issued  one  of  his  bulletins,  to  be  secretly 
distributed,  stating  that  **the  head  of  the  Libera- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  183 

tionist  party  was  not,  in  future,  to  be  accorded 
public  manifestations  of  sympathy,  much  as  he 
appreciated  them — this  in  order  to  avoid  attracting 
suspicion" — or,  sometimes,  they  would  encounter 
a  dark  scowl  from  some  bemedalled,  strutting  army 
officer.  Beyond  these  trivial  but  unmistakable 
signs  no  incident  occurred.  A  great  deal  of  Don 
Jose's  time  was  spent  in  calling  at  various  private 
residences,  and  upon  these  occasions  he  was  careful 
to  leave  the  car  in  some  public  plaza  and  proceed 
to  the  house  on  foot.  It  was  his  very  caution, 
Everett  realized,  that  prevented  the  government's 
laying  hands  upon  him.  He  remained,  outwardly, 
the  perfect  citizen;  moreover,  Pinar's  men  were 
fully  aware  that  if  he  were  arrested  on  some 
trumped-up  charge,  or  one  that  was  based  merely 
on  suspicion,  his  cause  would  be  furthered  greatly 
thereby,  since  the  Esperanzans  with  their  inflam- 
mable temperament  and  vaunted  love  of  liberty 
would  consider  such  an  arrest  an  unwarranted 
presumption  upon  the  rights  of  private  citizens. 
Don  Jose  was,  as  every  man  knew,  the  friend  of 
the  people  at  this  time;  his  gifts  to  the  local 
charities,  the  hospitals  of  Santa  Palma,  alone 
sufficed  to  make  him  beloved  by  all  except  his 
political  enemies. 

This,  then,  was  the  situation  in  the  latter  part 
of  December,  when  Everett  was  first  given  an 
opportunity  to  realize  the  perfection  of  Don  Jose's 
plans. 


i84  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

III 

It  was  midnight,  after  a  day  of  continuous,  tiring 
work  in  the  library,  and  Everett  was  just  about  to 
tumble  into  bed  when  someone  knocked  gently  at 
the  door  of  his  bedroom. 

He  discovered  Erik  Tegel  standing  in  the  dimly- 
lighted  passage  outside  the  door. 

"Don  Jose  wants  you,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"This  is  an  important  night  for  us  all.  Get  dressed 
and  meet  us  downstairs  as  soon  as  possible." 

Everett  hurried  into  his  clothes.  Five  minutes 
later  he  joined  Tegel  and  Don  Jose  by  the  roadside 
gate.  It  was  a  moonless  night,  the  sky  impene- 
trable; a  damp  gray  mist,  eddying  in  from  the  sea, 
enveloped  the  garden.  The  palm  fronds  lay  un- 
cannily motionless  about  them,  coated  with  a  sheen 
of  transparent  moisture. 

Don  Jose  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the  harbor, 
grasping  Everett's  arm. 

"What  do  you  see  out  there?"  he  whispered. 

Everett  strained  his  eyes  to  pierce  the  mantle  of 
swirling  grayness. 

"I  can  see  a  yellow  light — swaying  slowly  from 
side  to  side,  as  if  it  were  on  a  ship's  mast,"  he 
answered. 

"Now,  a  little  to  the  left  of  that." 

He  looked  again,  long  and  intently;  this  time  he 
uttered  a  little  cry  of  surprise. 

'*A  green  light,  sliding  up  and  down." 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  185 

"Exactly,"  said  Don  Jose.  **Now  you  can  come 
along  with  us,  and  very  soon  you  may  see  some- 
thing that  will,  I  think,  astonish  you." 

He  started  through  the  gate  to  the  roadway. 
The  three  of  them  fell  into  step  together,  heading 
in  the  opposite  direction  from  Santa  Palma,  and 
toward  the  seaward  end  of  the  promontory.  The 
road,  winding  at  first  through  flat  palmetto  lands, 
gradually  degenerated  into  a  mere  pathway  of 
rough,  unbroken  stones.  Presently  they  struck  off 
on  a  narrow  trail,  leaving  the  pathway  to  the  left. 
They  were  now  near  the  tip  of  the  peninsula, 
Everett  guessed,  and  cutting  across  it  toward  the 
harbor  mouth.  The  trail  began  to  descend  abruptly 
down  a  slope  that  was  overgrown  with  a  tangled 
mass  of  stunted  palmettos.  Far  below,  through 
the  rising  wraith  of  mist,  he  caught  the  faint  gleam 
of  a  lamp  shining  upon  placid  water.  Don  Jose 
was  silent,  intent  upon  following  the  path;  Tegel 
was,  as  usual,  taciturn. 

At  last  they  reached  the  base  of  the  slope  and 
set  foot  upon  a  flat  strip  of  beach.  Everett's  eyes, 
growing  slowly  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  de- 
tected the  bulk  of  a  small  boat  approaching  the 
shore — and  beyond  it,  out  in  the  bay,  the  shadowy 
outline  of  what  could  only  be  a  steamship  at  anchor. 
They  waited  in  silence  upon  the  beach  until,  after 
what  seemed  to  Everett  an  interminable  time,  they 
heard  the  gentle  grounding  of  a  keel  upon  the  sand 
perhaps  fifty  yards  away;  the  mist  in  the  mean- 


l86  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

time  had  grown  thicker.  Don  Jose,  followed  by 
Tegel,  hurried  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
sound  had  come,  leaving  Everett  at  the  foot  of  the 
cliff  to  warn  them  instantly  if  he  should  hear  anyone 
approaching  through  the  palmetto  undergrowth  from 
above. 

There  reached  his  ears,  as  he  stood  there,  the 
sound  of  heavy  objects  falling  with  a  dull  thud 
upon  the  beach  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  mutter- 
ings  of  men  engaged  in  a  subdued  argument. 
Someone  lighted  a  dim,  smoky  oil  lamp  and  held 
it  high  in  the  night  air;  shadowy  forms  began  to 
pass  swiftly  in  and  out  of  the  range  of  its  feeble, 
yellow  rays.  He  had  a  momentary  glimpse  of 
enormous,  opaque  masses  lying  in  a  row  near  the 
water's  edge — packing  cases.  Don  Jose,  he  saw 
too,  through  a  rift  in  the  mist,  directing  the  workers 
with  swift,  sharp  gestures  of  his  arms. 

And  then  another  boat  loomed  up  out  of  the 
thickening  veil  of  gloom  with  silent,  uncanny 
suddenness;  and  yet  another.  More  men  came 
ashore;  more  boxes.  .  .  . 

The  work  was  carried  on  in  complete  silence, 
except  for  one  instance  when  a  man  struggling 
with  a  heavy  burden  stumbled  and  fell ;  and  through 
the  obscurity  of  mist  and  darkness,  mingled  with 
the  thud  of  the  falling  packing  case,  there  came  a 
faint  but  unmistakable  rattle  of  metal  against  metal ; 
steel  against  steel.  Everett,  at  that  sound,  realized 
the  true  significance  of  it  all;  he  heard  Don  Jose 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  187 

reprimanding  the  man  in  a  controlled  yet  scathing 
voice. 

An  hour  must  have  passed.  He  grew  immensely 
weary;  sat  down  on  the  yielding  sand — and  with 
difficulty  kept  himself  awake.  At  last  the  boats 
left,  one  by  one;  the  rhythmatic  plashing  of  their 
oars  died  away  in  the  distance.  There  ensued  a 
profound  stillness. 

Don  Jose  and  Tegel  suddenly  returned,  and 
Everett  felt  a  friendly  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Thank  God,  that's  over,''  Don  Jose  muttered 
fervently,  and  turned  to  Tegel. 

"You  will,  of  course,  remain  here — until  the 
carriers  arrive  at  dawn." 

In  silence  he  and  Everett  climbed  up  the  path 
and  hurried  inland  to  where  a  single  panel  of  light 
shone  from  an  upper  story  window  of  the  Casa 
Azul.  It  was  three  o'clock  when  they  entered  the 
house,  and  as  they  came  into  the  lighted  hallway 
Everett  saw  upon  Don  Jose's  face  an  expression 
of   triumphant   satisfaction. 

"You  are  discreet,"  he  said  as  they  parted  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs.  "You  don't  ask  questions,  as 
so  many  fools  would  do.  For  that  reason,  my 
young  friend,  I  like  you." 

At  dawn  Everett  was  awakened  by  a  confused 
medley  of  sound  that  slowly  penetrated  his  sleep- 
laden  senses.  He  rose  and  tiptoed  out  into  the 
hall,  stood  at  a  window  blinking  at  the  sudden  glory 
of  the  day.     He  saw,  then,  descending  the  road 


i88  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

that  came  winding  through  the  palmettos  from 
the  seagirt  tip  of  the  peninsula,  a  string  of  primi- 
tive wooden  waggons  loaded,  apparently,  with  pale 
green  sugar  cane,  drawn  by  sleek  black  mules.  The 
early  morning  air  was  loud  with  the  crack  of  whips, 
the  clump  of  heavy  hoofs,  the  creak  and  groan  of 
axles  straining  under  some  prodigious  load. 

The  sugar  cane,  he  mused  sleepily,  was  ex- 
cessively heavy;  as  he  crept  back  into  bed  he 
suddenly  chuckled  aloud  at  the  thought. 


CHAPTER  X 


The  palpable  pleasure  with  which  Bianca  Valdez 
had  greeted  his  first  visit  to  her  lingered  as  a 
pleasant  aftermath  in  Everett's  mind,  and  he  went 
soon  again  to  see  her.  It  was  not  long,  indeed,  be- 
fore it  became  almost  a  daily  custom  of  his  to  drop 
in  at  the  villa  for  half  an  hour  or  so  in  the  late 
afternoon.  In  the  beginning  she  was  to  him  a 
complete  enigma,  but  as  time  went  by  he  learned 
fragmentary  details  of  her  past  life,  which  he  tried 
to  piece  together  in  a  coherent  sequence. 

When,  at  last,  he  had  the  complete  story  it  set 
him  to  pondering,  constantly,  upon  the  immeasur- 
able pathos  of  the  destiny  which  had  been  shaped 
for  her,  and  the  quiet  resignation  with  which  she 
accepted  the  inevitable. 

Bianca  Valdez,  only  child  of  one  Roderigo 
Rodriguez,  a  well-to-do  tobacco  planter  and  a  half- 
brother  of  Don  Jose,  had,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
seven,  come  abruptly  upon  a  stonewall  drawn 
across  the  path  of  her  life. 

Her  mother,  the  daughter  of  a  proud  French 
189 


I90  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

royalist  who  had  migrated  to  Martinique,  had  died 
at  Bianca's  birth.  Her  father,  who  adored  her 
with  the  simple,  complete  devotion  of  a  widower 
who  found  in  his  daughter  a  poignant  reminder  of 
all  his  wife's  perfections,  took  her  when  she  was 
barely  fourteen  years  old  to  Paris,  determined  that 
she  should  have  the  best  education  the  world  could 
give.  Always  a  man  of  keen  perception  as  well  as 
rare  sentiment,  he  had  a  secret  conviction  that 
France  was  the  only  nation  which  would  mould  of 
his  little  girl  a  woman  possessing  that  perfect  blend 
of  feminine  qualities  with  which  his  wife  had  per- 
petually entranced  him.  ...  Six  years  these  two 
lived  in  Paris — the  happiest  years  of  Bianca's 
life — and  then  Roderigo,  one  autumn,  decided  to 
pay  a  flying  visit  to  Santa  Palma  that  he  might 
settle  some  matters  of  business  connected  with  his 
plantation;  Bianca  went  with  him. 

On  the  outward  voyage  Roderigo  took  ill;  grew 
weaker  as  the  ship  sped  southward  into  torrid, 
tropic  seas.  Before  Santiago  de  Cuba,  the  first 
port  of  call  was  reached,  he  died;  he  was  buried 
at  sea. 

Aboard  the  ship  was  one  Carlo  Valdez,  captain 
of  Esperanza  infantry,  a  swarthy,  dashing  young 
man  of  twenty-eight  who  was  returning  to  Santa 
Palma  after  a  six  months'  leave  in  Spain.  Before 
Roderigo  had  fallen  ill  he  had  begun  to  pay  Bianca 
marked  attentions;  after  his  death  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  urge  his  case  the  more.     Never  was 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  191 

that  close  and  dangerous  affinity  between  love  and 
love  of  sympathy  so  clearly  demonstrated  as  when 
Bianca,  twenty  years  old,  alone  and  helpless, 
succumbed  to  the  persistent  entreaties  of  Valdez 
and  agreed  to  marry  him  upon  the  ship's  arrival 
in  Santa  Palma.  There  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  no 
other  alternative.  She  was  isolated  and  friendless, 
and  had  no  idea  where  to  go.  She  had  not  seen 
her  Uncle  Jose  since  she  had  been  a  tiny  child; 
was  not  even  sure  that  he  was  alive,  or  living  in 
Esperanza. 

They  were  married,  and  there  followed  three 
months  of  moderate  happiness.  Then  Valdez  was 
ordered  with  his  regiment  to  the  island  colony  of 
San  Martino,  some  ninety  miles  off  the  Esperanza 
coast,  where  the  government  was  having  some 
trouble  with  insurrectionists.  Valdez  refused 
abruptly  to  take  his  wife  with  him.  San  Martino, 
he  alleged  was  a  hell  hole — no  place  for  a  woman. 
He  left  her  in  a  modest  apartment  on  the  outskirts 
of  Santa  Palma,  where  she  agreed  placidly  to  await 
his  return,  which  it  appeared  would  be  in  six 
months'  time.  Be  it  noted  that  Roderigo  Rodri- 
guez's fortune  had,  by  now,  following  the 
Esperanzan  laws,  come  completely  in  the  hands  of 
Valdez. 

She  never  saw  her  husband  again.  He  wrote 
her  frequently  in  the  beginning — and  then,  as  time 
went  by,  less  and  less.  At  last  a  letter  came  to  her 
a  year  after  his  departure,  a  rambling,  almost  in- 


192  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

coherent  letter  whose  phrases  burned  into  her  brain 
like  torturing  streams  of  fire.  Valdez  would  never 
return — and,  between  the  lines,  and  from  hints  of 
gossip  that  spread  through  Santa  Palma,  she 
gathered  that  he  had  become  a  victim  of  the  climate 
and  sordidness  of  San  Martino;  he  had  given  him- 
self completely  to  the  life  of  dissipation  that 
threatens  the  pioneers  of  isolated  colonies  through- 
out the  world,  when  they  despairingly  seek  oblivion 
from  dread  monotony.  .  .  .  Later  on  it  developed 
that  he  had  been  dismissed  from  the  army  for 
failure  in  duty;  that  he  had  become  a  drunkard, 
was  openly  living  in  San  Martino  with  a  native 
w^oman.  .  .  .  Although  Bianca  might,  even  then, 
have  been  willing  to  forgive,  nothing  would  induce 
him  to  return  to  Santa  Palma.  He  had,  too,  her 
money. 

There  was  no  possibility  of  divorce  for  Bianca. 
Her  church,  as  well  as  the  inherent  prejudices  of 
her  countrymen  prevented  that.  She  was  condemned 
to  an  endless  loyalty  to  one  who  had  failed  in 
the  first  test  of  his  loyalty  to  her.  What  little 
money  he  had  left  with  her  gave  out.  Too  proud 
to  seek  assistance,  Don  Jose  at  last  discovered  her 
in  a  condition  of  poverty,  and  took  her  to  the 
empty  villa  adjacent  to  Casa  Azul.  He  embarked 
upon  the  step  with  some  misgiving,  knowing  that 
his  cherished  isolation  was  threatened,  yet  treated 
her  with  a  courtesy  and  kindliness  that  never  once 
revealed  this  anxiety.     She,  on  her  part,  did  not 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  193 

evince  by  word  or  deed  the  despair  that  was  in  her 
heart.  Eventually  Don  Jose,  forced  to  admiration 
by  her  quiet  resignation,  became  her  friend  and 
did  his  best  to  shield  her  from  the  prattle  of 
malicious  tongues. 

The  years  passed.  She  lived  the  life  of  a  recluse; 
found  solace  in  books  and  music,  and  in  the 
management  of  a  small  sugar  plantation  at  the 
village  of  Cristobal  which  her  father  had  left  her 
and  which  had  been  overlooked  by  Valdez ;  this  plan- 
tation enabled  her,  after  some  years,  to  pay  back 
gratefully  her  obligations  to  Don  Jose.  He  sug- 
gested that  she  could  find  distraction  in  travel,  but 
she  shrank  from  the  thought  of  facing  the  world 
alone;  Valdez's  faithlessness  always  seemed  to 
her,  by  some  obscure  reasoning  of  her  sensitive 
mind,  to  be  a  reproach  upon  herself.  Don  Jose 
tried  to  convince  her  of  the  unreasonableness  of 
this  attitude,  but  failed.  Hers  was  the  gentler 
spirit  of  womanhood — she  would  never  have  wil- 
fully hurt  a  human  soul;  she  belonged  to  that 
accepting,  trusting  type  of  woman  who,  unless 
Fate  treats  her  with  a  clement  hand,  is  bound  to 
be  crushed  and  bruised  by  contact  with  life's 
severer  tests. 

II 

She  and  Everett  went  riding  one  morning  to  the 
Cristobal  plantation.  Their  mounts  were  lean, 
delicate-limbed  young  horses  of  the  native  breed, 


194  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

nervous  and  none  too  sure-footed.  The  morning 
air — it  was  before  breakfast — was  still  cool  and 
fresh,  and  as  they  cantered  along  the  winding  sunlit 
trail  that  led  to  the  distant  hills  Everett  experienced 
a  welcome  sense  of  exhilaration,  a  tingling  of  the 
blood,  a  desire  to  shout  aloud  with  the  sheer,  im- 
patient joy  of  being  alive.  She,  at  his  side,  was 
superb  upon  her  horse,  he  thought.  She  was  wear- 
ing a  simple  khaki  skirt  and  blouse,  her  face  shielded 
from  the  sun's  glare  by  a  soft,  wide-brimmed 
panama  worn  with  unerring  grace;  beneath  it  he 
could  see  her  black,  gleaming  hair  waving  softly 
over  her  ears,  her  slightly  uptilted  nose  breathing 
in  the  cool  fragrance  of  the  morning.  A  faint 
flush  had  crept  to  the  curve  of  her  cheek;  pleasure 
shone  in  her  eyes.     For  once  she  had  forgotten. 

They  crossed  a  low  range  of  hills;  descended 
with  care  a  rock-strewn  path  into  a  cup-shaped 
valley  whose  gently  undulating  slopes  were  green 
with  young  sugar  cane,  dotted  here  and  there  with 
the  squat,  thatched  bungalows  of  planters.  At  the 
foot  of  the  descent  they  cantered  through  a  sun- 
speckled  grove  of  mangos,  and  emerged  at  the 
edge  of  a  sluggish  stream,  through  which  their 
horses  waded  with  a  mincing,  high-stepping 
timidity. 

Beyond  the  stream  they  came  upon  a  straight, 
flat  road  that  was  an  invitation.  They  shook  their 
horses  to  a  gallop,  abandoning  themselves  to  the 
ecstasy  of   unrestrained  flight.      His   horse   nosed 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  195 

slightly  to  the  fore;  head  tossing;  snorting  with 
the  eagerness  of  the  open  road. 

Of  a  sudden  he  heard  a  sharp,  terrified  scream. 
He  turned  his  head  quickly  to  see  Bianca's  horse 
stumbling.  In  an  instant  she  was  lying  queerly, 
horribly  motionless  in  a  crumpled  khaki  heap  upon 
the  blinding  white  road.  ...  He  reined  up,  heart 
leaping  into  his  throat;  dismounted.  The  horses 
cantered  on  together  for  a  hundred  yards  or  so 
down  the  road;  then  came  to  a  halt  in  a  state  of 
aimless  indecision. 

He  ran  back ;  knelt  down  and  took  the  motionless 
figure  in  his  arms;  turned  her  face  to  his.  He  had 
never,  he  thought,  panic-stricken,  seen  such  a 
deathly  pallor.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  the  flesh 
beneath  them  tinged  faintly  blue.  *'Oh,  God,'*  he 
murmured ;  "Oh,  God," — again  and  again.  ...  He 
found  himself,  as  if  in  a  nightmare,  clambering 
down  an  embankment  to  the  stream;  dipping  a 
handkerchief  in  the  clear,  cold  water.  Seconds 
seemed  like  minutes;  minutes  aeons  of  time.  .  .  . 

As  he  bathed  her  white  brow  her  eyelids 
fluttered,  slowly  opened.  She  gazed  at  him  with  a 
dull,  uncomprehending  stare.  Her  arm  moved  up- 
ward in  a  feeble  gesture,  then  dropped  limply.  She 
muttered  something  which  he  could  not  understand. 

For  what  seemed  ages  he  knelt  there,  holding 
her  in  his  arms;  trying  desperately,  frantically  to 
revive  her.  And  then,  at  last,  the  stark  stare  left 
her  eyes,  to  be  replaced  by  complete  comprehension. 


196  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

"I'm  not  hurt,"  she  murmured,  and  her  lips 
trembled  into  a  valiant  smile,  "—only,  only 
stunned." 

But  one  arm,  flung  limply  about  his  neck, 
tightened  and  a  spasm  of  pain  twisted  her  mouth. 
She  seemed,  just  then,  very  near  to  him,  and  very 
helpless. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  assured  her  hopefully.  " — I'll 
take  care  of  you;  I'll  get  you  home — don't  worry." 

She  smiled  again.  A  kind  of  hazy  tenderness 
filled  her  eyes.  Something  of  the  vividness  of  her 
proximity  overwhelmed  him  suddenly;  and  in  a 
wave  of  mingled  tenderness,  passion  and  thankful- 
ness, he  leaned  swiftly  forward  and  kissed  her 
trembling  lips.  Her  arm,  for  one  brief  instant, 
tightened  perceptibly  about  his  neck,  in  a  seemingly 
grateful  caress. 

She  stood  up  then,  quickly  and  nervously; 
brushed  the  dust  from  her  habit.  Only  her  elbow, 
it  seemed,  had  been  painfully  wrenched.  He  re- 
covered the  horses,  helped  her  to  mount,  and  they 
rode  homeward,  side  by  side,  in  silence.  His  head 
was  lowered,  his  gaze  fixed  pensively  upon  the 
road.  Only  once  did  she  glance  at  him,  and  then 
her  eyes  were  ashine  with  a  strange,  new  bright- 
ness. 

The  allurement  of  Everett's  youth  and  eagerness; 
his  freshness  of  outlook  and  his  enthusiasm,  had — 
if  he  had  but  known  it — ^broken  in  upon  the  mo- 
notony of  her  existence  like  a  breath  of  life-giving 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  197 

air  upon  a  fading  flower.  Daily  she  had  waited  for 
the  hour  of  his  visit  to  her  with  a  growing  pleasure 
and  expectancy.  He  had  brought  to  her,  unknow- 
ing, one  ray  of  hope  that  gleamed  through  the 
dreary,  gray  future  to  which  she  had  steeled  her- 
self. And  now,  temjiestuously,  in  that  fleeting  kiss 
he  had  given  her  came  the  culmination  of  hope, 
the  conviction  that  she  could  still  find  happiness — 
in  being  young,  and  in  being  in  love.  The  tragedy 
of  those  ended  years  of  wasted  beauty  seemed  to 
her  to  have  been  swept  away  on  the  wings  of  the 
morning;  in  one  swift  moment  she  had  found  her 
youth  and  vanished  dreams  restored  to  her.  .  .  . 

Ill 

She  was  outwardly  calm  when  they  reached  the 
villa,  and  invited  him  to  remain  for  luncheon. 
Although  she,  of  course,  avoided  reference  to  what 
had  occurred  he  sensed  that  their  relations  had 
undergone  a  subtle  change.  Several  times  he 
caught  her  looking  at  him,  furtively,  a  half-puzzled, 
half-tender  expression  in  her  eyes;  and  he  realized 
of  a  sudden,  that  things  could  not  be  as  they  had 
been  before — that  their  frank  comradeship  had  gone. 
In  its  place  there  had  crept  a  certain  uneasiness, 
intangible  but  wholly  apparent;  a  diffidence  in  his 
conversation,  a  shyness  in  her  replies. 

A  relief  from  the  tension  came  after  lunch  when 
she  appeared  on  the  terrace   with  a  copy  of   El 


198  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Tiempo,  the  local  journal  of  Santa  Palma.  She 
sat  down  beside  him. 

**There  are  some  things  I  don't  understand  at 
all,"  she  began  gravely.  ''Listen  to  this,  while  I 
read  it  to  you." 

Everett  waited,  smiling;  he  had  already  guessed 
what  she  was  about  to  read  to  him. 

''Here  it  is — 'An  Extraordinary  Note  to  Presi- 
dent Pinar  from  the  Planter  Jose  Rodriguez,'  it 
is  headed ;  and  then  follows  this  article : — 'We  have 
learned  from  a  high  authority  that  our  illustrious 
President,  Alvarez  Pinar,  has  today  received  a 
communication  of  a  most  extraordinary  and  un- 
pleasant nature  from  the  well-known  planter  Jose 
Rodriguez.  In  this  note  Rodriguez  demands  the 
instant  court-martial  and  execution  of  Captain 
Tomas  Secor  of  the  President's  Guard  for  what 
he  terms  "the  wicked  and  unwarranted  assassination 
of  Seiior  Vlasco  Corcovado,  secretary  to  His 
Excellency  Don  Jose  Rodriguez,  President  of  the 
Liberationist  Party  of  Esperanza."  The  note, 
moreover,  concludes  by  saying  that  if  Secor  is  not 
executed  and  an  apology  is  not  forthcoming  for 
his  action,  the  Liberationist  Party  pledges  itself 
to  avenge  the  death  of  its  dearly  beloved  and  illus- 
trious comrade.  It  is  learned  that  the  receipt  of 
this  note  has  caused  a  furor  in  the  President's 
Palace,  and  that  Rodriguez  will  be  severely  dealt 
with  for  his  temerity.' — Now  what  do  you  think 
of  that,  Everett?" 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  199 

He  laughed  outright. 

**It  sounds  even  better  than  I  had  imagined/* 
he  exclaimed.  'That  note  was  dictated  to  me  by 
Don  Jose  and  sent  by  special  messenger  to  the 
Palace.  I'll  bet  they're  shaking  in  their  shoes  up 
at  the  Fortalezay 

"They  sound  defiant/'  she  murmured  dubiously. 

"That's  pure  bluff.  Besides,  El  Tiempo  is  prac- 
tically owned  by  Pinar's  crowd.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  they  won't  know  what  to  do.  They'd  never 
dare  execute  Secor  for  fear  of  antagonizing  the 
whole  army;  and  they're  deadly  afraid  of  Don  Jose. 
They  know,  too,  that  the  murder  of  Corcovado 
was  a  brutal  crime." 

She  frowned;  then  spoke  with  some  asperity. 

"This  note  of  Don  Jose's,"  she  asserted,  tapping 
the  newspaper,  "is  merely  a  flimsy  excuse  for  war. 
It  need  never  have  been  sent.  Pinar  cannot  climb 
down,  or  he  would  not  have  a  shred  of  respect  left 
in  the  eyes  of  the  people.  Don  Jose  must  have 
foreseen  that." 

"Of  course  it's  only  an  excuse,"  he  assured  her, 
enthusiastically,  "but  it's  a  very  good  one.  Corco- 
vado's  death  gave  Don  Jose  the  very  opportunity 
he  wanted.  He  feels  that  the  time  is  now  ripe  to 
save  the  country  from  the  rotten  state  it's  falling 
into,  and  he's  brought  things  to  a  crisis — that's  all 
there  is  to  it/' 

She  did  not  immediately  answer.  For  some 
moments  she  gazed  toward  the  harbor  with  a  wist- 


200  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

ful  stare,  eventually  to  give  a  little  shrug  of 
resignation. 

'It  seems,"  she  said,  "as  if  men  were  always 
trying  to  make  trouble,  were  ready  to  fly  at  one 
another's  throats  upon  the  slightest  pretext.  Oh — 
if  we  could  only  have  peace!  You  don't  know 
what  these  revolutions  are  like;  you  who  up  north 
read  of  them  in  your  newspapers  and  laugh.  You 
don't  hear  of  the  wounded  men;  the  streets  soaked 
in  blood — and  then,  afterwards,  fever  and  horrible 
disease  sweeping  over  the  island " 

She  turned  to  him  in  a  little  burst  of  fury. 

"Even  you,  young  as  you  are,  you're  guilty. 
You're  ready,  even  anxious  for  this  orgy  of  mur- 
der which  is  bound  to  come.  You've  listened  to 
Don  Jose's  eloquence  and,  like  a  perfect  little 
fool,  you're  ready  to  play  your  part  in  a  tragedy 
that  doesn't  concern  you  in  the  least.  I  had 
hoped " 

Her  voice  wavered,  broke  to  an  almost  inco- 
herent whisper: 

" — I  had  hoped  that,  possibly,  you  and  I  might 
enjoy  some  happy  hours  together — and  now  even 
that  is  to  be  spoiled.  And  then,  very  likely,  you 
may  be  wounded.  Being  with  Don  Jose  you're  bound 
to  be  in  the  thick  of  everything;  he  is  at  least 
courageous.  — Oh,  please,  for  God's  sake,  think 
better  of  it!" 

Her  passionate  outburst  left  him  momentarily 
speechless,   amazed.     Clumsily  he  leaned   forward 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  20l 

and  took  her  hand  in  his,  where  it  lay  limp  and  un- 
resisting. 

'*I  can't  back  out  of  it  now,"  he  told  her.  "That's 
impossible." 

Very  quietly  he  arose,  touched  his  lips  to  her  fin- 
gers, and  walked  away  down  the  garden  path.  His 
mind  was  in  a  chaotic  state.  So  many  things  hap- 
pening— so  swiftly  .  .  .  and  over  all  he  was  haunted 
by  an  enduring,  persistent  vision  of  her  lying  helpless 
in  his  arms,  of  that  sudden,  unforgetable  kiss.  He 
reached  the  gate  in  the  bourgainvillea-sp rayed  wall, 
paused  irresolutely,  then  retraced  his  steps  toward 
the  villa.  But  she  had  gone  indoors,  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen. 

IV 

Don  Jose  was  in  festive  mood  that  night.  He, 
Tegel,  and  Everett  dined  together  in  the  Casa  Azul, 
and  to  celebrate  the  sending  of  the  note  to  Pinar  he 
ordered  champagne  to  be  brought  up  from  the  cel- 
lars. 

"To  the  Valientes!"  he  cried,  raising  his  glass. 
"May  God  support  their  cause." 

There  were  other  toasts,  too,  for  the  future  pros- 
perity of  Esperanza — and  one  to  Don  Jose  himself, 
proposed  by  Tegel  who  had  apparently  forgotten  his 
taciturnity  for  the  occasion.  Toward  the  end  of 
dinner,  however,  a  sense  of  seriousness  descended 
upon  them  all,  so  that  they  ate  and  drank  in  silence. 

At  nine  o'clock  Don  Jose  rose  from  the  table. 


202  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

"In  a  very  few  days,"  he  said,  'Tinar's  reply  will 
come.  That  it  will  be  in  the  nature  of  a  refusal  I  am 
sure.  You,  Gail,  have  already  proved  of  value  to  me ; 
I  have  decided  that  you  will  take  part  in  the  Revolu- 
tion as  my  personal  aide — so  prepare  yourself  for 
an  interesting  time,  and  perhaps  some  bloodshed. 
Until  the  hour  comes  you  will  see  little  of  me;  I 
am  going  about  the  country — in  disguise,  of  course — 
conferring  with  my  brave  agents.  You  will,  your- 
self, remain  here  and  await  orders.  Until  then — 
adieu." 

He  left  the  room;  Tegel,  nodding  abruptly  to 
Everett,  followed  him.  The  door  closed  softly  be- 
hind them. 

Left  alone,  Everett  found  himself  suddenly  per- 
vaded by  an  untold  exhilaration.  His  senses,  he 
discovered,  were  acutely  sharpened,  his  mind  incred- 
ibly active.  He  seemed  to  be  able  to  reach  conclu- 
sions with  an  unnatural,  uncanny  ease  .  .  .  perhaps 
it  was  the  wine;  or  the  subtle  fragrance  of  the 
night ;  or  the  shadow  of  impending  events.  ...  He 
left  the  dining  room,  strolled  down  the  marble  steps 
that  led  to  the  garden.  A  white,  symmetrical  moon 
shone  down  with  dazzling  intensity  between  the 
slender  black  columns  of  the  palms.  Beyond  the 
ghostly  outline  of  the  garden  wall  he  could  glimpse 
a  yellow  parallelogram  of  light,  shining  from  a  win- 
dow in  Bianca's  villa. 

Half  way  across  the  garden  he  was  halted  by  the 
sound  of  a  woman*s  voice,  singing,  low  and  tremu- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  203 

lous;  the  faint  tinkle  of  a  piano  reached  his  ears. 
As  in  a  dream  he  lifted  the  latch  of  the  gateway  in 
the  wall,  and  continued  toward  the  villa. 

He  knocked  gently,  and  the  sound  of  his  knuckles 
upon  the  paneled  surface  of  the  door  seemed  to  reach 
him  remotely,  from  a  great  distance. 

When  he  had  waited,  heart  hammering,  for  what 
seemed  an  eternity  of  time,  the  door  was  slowly 
opened.  She  stood  before  him,  clad  in  a  fragile 
black  evening  gown,  her  tender  profile  vaguely  out- 
lined in  the  mellow  light  of  a  hallway  lantern  that 
hung,  pendulous,  from  brass  chains.  A  hand  was 
poised,  startled,  upon  her  small  yet  frankly  curving 
bosom.  He  marvelled,  momentarily,  at  the  white 
perfection  of  her  shoulders,  in  unmitigated  contrast 
to  the  lacy  blackness  of  her  dress. 

"You,"  she  said.  That  was  all ;  but  he  was  aware, 
almost  triumphantly,  that  there  was  no  trace  of  re- 
proval  in  her  voice;  only  a  little  catch  of — could  it 
be,  happiness. 

For  a  while  he  stood  there  silent  before  her;  and 
then — at  last — held  her  in  his  arms,  while  her  lips 
murmured  soft,  incoherent  little  phrases  in  his  ears, 
and  her  slim  white  arms  about  his  neck  were  a  caress 
in  themselves.  He  caught  her,  suddenly,  warm  and 
yielding,  to  him;  saw  her  lips,  half  open,  smiling  up 
at  him  in  a  mute,  irresistible  appeal. 

In  the  depths  of  her  hazel  eyes,  too,  he  saw  the 
inexorable. 


Book  III 


«»5 


*i" 


CHAPTER  I 


The  Casa  Azuf  became,  during  the  days  that  fol- 
lowed, a  silent,  almost  deserted  place.  Don  Jose  was 
away,  roaming  about  the  island,  and  Everett  received 
no  news  of  him.  Sometimes  Tegel  would  appear 
unexpectedly  to  pass  an  hour  or  two  at  the  house, 
spoke  little  to  Everett,  and  when  he  did,  vouched  no 
the  heap  of  mail  that  invariably  awaited  him.  He 
spoke  little  to  Everett,  and  when  he  did,  vouched  no 
information.  It  was  understood,  however,  that  Don 
Jose's  plans  were  now  complete  and  awaiting  only 
the  spark  that  would  start  the  conflagration. 

Life,  at  this  time,  assumed  for  Everett  a  leisurely 
enchantment,  an  opulence  that  he  had  not  before  con- 
ceived possible.  He  lived  through  the  hours  with  a 
perpetual  sense  of  unreality;  the  commonplaces  of 
everyday  existence  were  tinted  with  something  of 
the  magic  of  dreams.  There  were  rides  with  Bianca 
in  the  coolness  of  early  morning  to  the  foothills 
beyond  Cristobal,  through  the  emerald  coffee  groves 
whose  berries  were  now  beginning  to  turn  crisply 
red  as  the  sun  gained  daily  in  strength ;  luncheons  in 

207 


2o8  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

the  noonday  stillness  of  the  villa — entrancing  meals 
served  upon  a  table  ornate  with  damask  and  the 
sparkle  of  cut  glass;  long,  drowsy  afternoons  in  the 
profound  languor  of  the  shady  garden,  whilst  he 
looked  over  her  books,  and  she  embroidered;  both 
of  them  rather  quiet,  happy  in  the  mere  consciousness 
of  each  other's  proximity.  Or  perhaps,  late  in  the 
afternoon  they  would  seek  the  coolness  of  the  living 
room,  while  she  sat  at  the  piano  and  her  tremulous 
contralto  vibrating  through  the  golden  dusk  would 
set  nameless  pangs  stirring  at  his  heart.  And  then, 
most  perfect  of  all,  the  evenings  spent  in  the  blue 
shadows  of  the  verandah  where  there  was  a  serene 
stillness,  broken  only  by  the  lyric  rustling  of  palm 
fronds  in  the  gentle  breeze,  the  occasional  and  sub- 
dued stirring  of  the  cockatoo  upon  its  swinging 
perch.  A  glimpse  of  the  starlit  sea  through  a  fret- 
work of  leaves,  while  Bianca's  cool  hands  smoothed 
his  rumpled  hair,  murmured  endearing  little  phrases 
that  awed  him — ^made  him  feel  utterly  young,  and 
vaguely  ashamed,  too,  that  anyone  should  so  love 
him.  .  .  . 

As  he  grew  to  know  her  well  he  found  himself, 
oddly  enough,  contrasting  her  with  Margaret  Blair. 
In  age  there  was  some  eight  years  difference;  Mar- 
garet stood  for  the  splendid  near  future,  Bianca  for 
the  glorious  actuality.  Bianca  had  a  certain  stability, 
a  steadiness  of  purpose  which  Margaret  had  yet  to 
attain;  the  impetuousness  of  youth,  alert  and  seek- 
ing, had  in  her  been  supplanted  by  a  deep  tranquillity 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  209 

of  spirit,  a  perfection  of  philosophic  calm.  Mar- 
garet was  the  bud,  Bianca  the  full-blown  flower.  .  .  . 
And  then  again,  to  Bianca  life  seemed  an  easily-read 
book;  she  was  constantly,  if  wholly  unconsciously, 
bringing  to  light  some  aspect  of  his  own  immaturity 
which  laughingly  caused  her  pleasure  and  made  him 
youthfully  uncomfortable. 

"Dear  Everett,"  she  would  say  in  her  lazy,  pretty 
drawl,  her  great  eyes  searching  his,  "you  are  so  very 
young.  You  have  brought  me  back  all,  all  my 
youth — just  being  with  you." 

A  frown  might  flicker  across  her  brow  as  she 
asked  herself  for  perhaps  the  hundreth  time  how 
long  it  would  last.  Inwardly  she  was  already  dread- 
ing the  day  when  the  shining  eagerness  in  his  eyes 
upon  seeing  her  would  fail.  Too  intelligent  to  over- 
estimate even  the  power  of  her  charms,  she  suc- 
ceeded in  making  a  gentle  appeal  to  his  sympathies 
as  well  as  his  senses. 

She  displayed,  in  their  new  intimacy,  a  complexity 
of  character,  an  infinite  variety  of  moods  that  puz- 
zled him,  yet  held  him  entranced  by  their  very  va- 
garies. She  was  cool,  almost  scornful,  at  times; 
then  at  once  sweetly  humble  and  surrendering.  Be- 
cause she  was  the  product  of  centuries  of  the  finest 
old  blood  and  bone  it  was  the  very  refinement  of 
her,  perhaps,  that  held  him  capitivated.  An  acute 
delicacy  of  expression  was  so  inherent  a  part  of  her 
being  that  even  in  her  eager  love  for  him  every  act, 
every  declaration  was  tinged  with  a  fine  thread  of 

14 


2IO  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

restraint  that  sustained,  more  than  anything  else,  his 
admiration.  His  uncomplex  mind,  still  imbued  sub- 
consciously with  certain  stolid  old  Anglo-Saxon 
ideas  of  convention,  could  not  reconcile  the  complete- 
ness of  her  physical  surrender  to  him  with  the  fact 
that  she  was  ever  a  gentlewoman  of  the  most  per- 
fect and  delicate  mould  imaginable.  .  .  . 

"When  it  is  all  over,"  she  once  remarked 
gravely  to  him  through  the  twilight,  "you  must  not 
think  wrong  of  yourself,  or  of  me.  It  is  only  the 
fools  who  blame  themselves  for  the  irrevocable 
past." 

"Why  do  you  speak  of  its  being  all  over?"  he 
asked  her  with  a  display  of  impatience.  " — it's  cyni- 
cal, horrible,  to  look  ahead  and  foresee  things  like 
that."  But  there  was,  none  the  less,,  a  shade  of  fear 
in  his  voice  as  he  recognized,  in  spite  of  his  desire 
to  ignore  it,  the  unerring  truth  of  her  perception. 

"Because  someday,  maybe  very  soon,  it  will  be 
over — just  a  memory,"  she  answered.  "Nothing, 
least  of  all  a  particular  form  of  happiness,  endures — 

'Toute  votre  f elicit e, 

Sujette  d  Vinstabilite, 

En  moin  de  rien  tombe  par  terre; 

Et  comme  elle  a  Veclat  de  verre, 

Elle  en  a  la  fragilite' 

" — Corneille  put  the  truth  so  beautifully,  didn't 
he?" 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  211 

And  in  the  little  laugh  that  followed  there  was  the 
faintest  touch  of  bitterness. 

It  was  in  just  such  moods  as  this  that  she  baffled 
him. 

II 

New  York  and  his  past  life  had  by  now  attained 
a  dim  remoteness  in  his  mind.  Absorbed  by  the 
new  phase  of  existence  in  which  he  suddenly  found 
himself,  he  had  difficulty  in  summoning  to  his  mind 
the  merest  echo  of  the  past.  He  had  written,  dur- 
ing his  first  week  at  the  Casa  Azul,  a  letter  to  his 
mother,  reassuringly  stating  that  he  had  found  the 
West  Indies  to  his  liking — that  he  was  well — and 
happy.  To  this  he  presently  received  an  amiable, 
characteristic  reply  that  concluded  with  a  certain 
note  of  resignation.  **Your  father  and  I  are  glad 
that  you  seem  contented.  Everything  at  home — 
business  especially — is  still  very  unsettled;  P.  says 
he  doesn't  see  any  possible  business  opening  for  you 
at  present.  I'm  having  the  most  dreadful  time  with 
servants.  .  .  .  Personally,  I  must  say  I  don't  see 
what  amusement  or  interest  you  can  find  in  being 
chauffeur  to  one  of  those  Brazilians  (her  geography 
was  always  delightfully  vague) — but  then  you  al- 
ways did  have  such  quaint  ideas,  Evvy  dear !" 

And  a  postscript :  "You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that 
Stoddard  has  just  won  the  Boston  Architectural 
League's  prize  for  the  best  design  of  a  Colonial 
house.    We  are  all  exceedingly  proud  of  him.  .  .  ." 


212  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

This  letter  of  his  mother's  set  him  to  pondering. 
Stoddard,  as  usual,  was  magnetizing  the  family  with 
his  successes,  and  this  effectually  prevented  them 
from  focusing  their  attention  upon  himself.  It  was 
evident  that  they  regarded  him,  Everett,  their  first- 
born, in  the  light  of  an  anomaly,  which  it  was  wiser 
not  to  interfere  with — a  problem  beyond  their 
powers,  as  normal  parents,  to  solve.  They  were 
not  in  the  least  angry  with  him,  he  felt — ^the 
dear,  lovable  souls — only  disappointed.  He  knew 
that  Stoddard  had  exceeded  their  greatest  expecta- 
tions while  he,  himself,  had  failed  to  come  up  to 
them. 

His  philosophy  was  somewhat  embittered  by  this 
reasoning.  His  mother,  of  coursie,  loved  him  still 
in  that  wonderfully  serene,  unquestioning  way  that 
good  mothers  always  seemed  to  love  their  sons,  but 
it  was  easy  to  see  that  all  her  hope  and  pride  was 
now  centered  in  Stoddard. 

He  did  not  feel,  under  the  circumstances,  any  im- 
mediate urge  to  return  home.  There  was  nothing 
to  compel  him  to  leave  Santa  Palma,  where  life  sud- 
denly offered  innumerable  interests,  where  the  near 
future  was  potent  with  those  glowing  prospects  of 
adventure  and  activity  that  were,  to  him,  the  very 
breath  of  life.  But,  although  he  had  not  yet  realized 
the  fact,  it  was  Bianca,  really,  whose  supreme  mag- 
netism abruptly  banished  from  his  mind  all  thoughts 
of  the  past — and  even  of  the  future.  With  her  the 
radiant  present  was  all-sufficing. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  213 

III 

Don  Jose  returned  to  the  Casa  Azul  at  midnight 
on  the  twelfth  day  of  his  absence.  He  summoned 
Everett  immediately  to  his  library.  Everett  found 
him  pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  hands  clasped 
behind  his  back ;  he  appeared  nervous  and  tired,  yet 
elation  shone  in  his  eyes. 

^'Everything  is  ready,"  he  said,  after  formally 
greeting  him.  "My  followers  await  only  the  signal. 
I  have  divided  the  country  into  four  areas  for  my 
campaign — north,  south,  east  and  west.  Each  area 
is  in  the  hands  of  a  trusted  leader.  We  can  count, 
I  find,  on  about  twenty-five  thousand  men  in  all, 
moderately  well  trained,  as  against  ten  or  twelve 
thousand  highly  trained  Federalist  soldiers.  Our 
support  is  assured  at  Los  Barrios,  where  we  will 
strike  the  first  blow.  Santa  Palma  will  probably 
swing  to  our  cause  as  soon  as  our  other  victories 
are  announced.  Only  Rivadavia,  in  the  east,  re- 
mains a  doubtful  factor.  Now  if  you  will  listen 
carefully  I  will  outline  my  plan. 

"As  soon  as  Pinar  refuses  our  demands,  which 
he  will  of  course  do,  our  attack  shall  begin  simul- 
taneously at  the  four  most  important  towns  on  the 
island — Santa  Palma,  Los  Barrios,  Rivadavia  and 
Manzanillo  in  the  west.  In  less  than  forty-eight 
hours,  I  believe,  these  four  towns  will  be  completely 
in  our  hands." 

He  paused  to  unfold  a  large  map;  tapped  upon  it 


214  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

with  a  pencil,  indicating  a  certain  patch  of  pale 
green. 

''Here,  you  see,  is  what  we  call  the  Vega  Real,  an 
upland  plain  some  six  kilometers  south  of  Santa 
Palma.  It  is  the  principal  strategic  position  upon 
the  whole  island  because  it  commands  the  road  be- 
tween Santa  Palma  and  Los  Barrios,  and  also  the 
narrow-gauge  railway  to  Rivadavia.  Artillery  care- 
fully placed  at  this  point  would  dominate  Santa 
Palma. 

"Continuing  my  plan — I  propose,  at  one  move,  to 
cut  all  communication  between  north  and  south  by 
occupying  the  Vega  Real  and,  in  case  we  meet  with 
resistance,  to  shell  the  government  buildings  of 
Santa  Palma  from  this  point.  Meanwhile  our  other 
Valient es,  having  met  with  success  in  the  south,  east 
and  west,  will  march  northward  to  this  Vega  Real 
and  reinforce  those  attacking  Santa  Palma." 

He  talked,  on  and  on,  through  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning,  inculcating  into  Everett  not  a  little  of 
his  own  growing  enthusiasm. 

In  the  dim  grayness  of  dawn,  just  as  they  were 
about  to  retire,  the  door  opened  swiftly  and  Tegel 
glided  into  the  room.  In  Don  Jose's  hands  he  placed 
an  oblong  envelope,  and  there  was  upon  his  uncom- 
promising features  the  faintest  trace  of  an  ironical 
smile. 

"There  is  your  answer  from  Pinar,"  he  an- 
nounced. "Instead  of  complying  with  your  de- 
mands he  threatens  you  with  arrest  and  imprison- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  215 

ment  if  you  do  not  leave  the  republic  of  Esperanza 
forever  within  twenty-four  hours." 

Don  Jose,  after  a  moment  of  incredulous  amaze- 
ment, burst  into  such  a  roar  of  laughter  that  his 
massive  frame  shook  and  tears  came  welling  into 
his  eyes. 

'They  have  spoken,"  he  said,  abruptly  restrain- 
ing his  mirth.  "The  voice  of  our  rifles  will  be  the 
best  answer  that  we  can  give  to  these  conceited  pup- 
pets." 


CHAPTER  II 


Remembering  that  it  was  Saturday  afternoon 
and,  consequently,  that  a  new  issue  of  The  Two 
Hemispheres  would  be  on  sale,  Winthrop  Blair 
stopped  at  the  news  stand  on  the  gusty  corner  of 
Madison  Avenue  and  Fifty-Ninth  Street,  on  his  way 
home  from  the  club,  and  purchased  a  copy  of  that 
estimable  but  somewhat  colorless  publication.  On 
his  arrival  at  the  stolid  square  brownstone  house  that 
had  been  the  Blair  residence  for  two  generations,  he 
dropped  into  an  armchair  and  began  to  turn  over  the 
closely-printed,  unillustrated  pages  of  the  review 
with  an  air  of  quiet  stoicism.  His  wife  had  sug- 
gested some  weeks  previously  that  he  was  not  suffi- 
ciently au  courant  (she  was  fond  of  imported 
phrases)  with  public  affairs  of  the  present  day,  and 
as  his  principal  aim  in  life  was  to  placate  Ella  Blair 
he  conscientiously  imposed  upon  himself  this  weekly 
task  of  perusing  a  publication  that  incredibly  bored 
him — his  own  personal  choice  in  literature  waver- 
ing between  Life  and  Judge,  and  detective  stories 
about  mysterious  houses  with  haunted  rooms  and 

216 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  217 

drawn  blinds.  He  was  a  neat,  wiry  little  man  with 
thin  pink  cheeks  and  skimpy,  faded  brown  hair 
which  was  parted  with  extreme  preciseness  upon  a 
rather  finely  shaped  head.  His  dark  gray  sack  suit, 
patent  leather  shoes,  and  pearl  gray  cravat  of  the 
richest  Spittlefield  silk  proclaimed  a  certain  inherent 
good  taste  that  was  noticeable  only  for  its  unobtru- 
siveness.  As  he  sat  reading  The  Two  Hemispheres 
he  tugged  at  his  well-clipped  gray  mustache  and  his. 
forehead  became  puckered  with  a  mild  frown. 

He  had  been  reading  about  ten  minutes  when  he 
heard  the  front  door  open ;  he  laid  the  magazine  care- 
fully down  upon  a  table  and  glanced  toward  the 
door,  welcoming  the  interruption  with  considerable 
relief.  He  had  found  The  Two  Hemispheres  more 
tedious  than  ever,  if  possible,  this  week.  .  .  . 

Ella  Blair,  active  yet  ponderous,  clad  in  an  elabor- 
ate plum-colored  afternoon  dress  and  hat  with  nod- 
ding ostrich  plumes,  swept  into  the  drawing  room 
with  the  majesty  of  a  full-rigged  ship;  her  large, 
usually  placid  face  wore  an  expression  of  outraged 
dignity.  Winthrop  Blair  rose  to  meet  her  with  a 
nervous  little  cough. 

"I  was  reading  this  week's  Two  Hemispheres,  my 
dear,''  he  said  with  a  palpable  effort  at  casualness, 
" — splendid  article  about  The  Necessity  of  Adjust- 
ing Foreign  Exchange." 

His  wife  placed  a  gold  mesh  reticule  and  limp 
white  gloves  upon  the  veneered  surface  of  a  table, 
and  sank  with  a  soft,  swishing  sound  into  an  arm- 


2i8  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

chair  beside  him.  He  realized  with  an  unpleasant 
sense  of  foreboding  that  she  had  been  crossed  in  her 
will.  Ella  Blair's  amiability  was  a  thing  wholly  de- 
pendent upon  her  having  her  own  way — and  as  most 
people  gave  in  to  her  wishes  she  had,  like  many 
women  of  her  type,  gained  an  undeserved  reputa- 
tion of  being  one  of  the  most  good-natured  creatures 
in  the  world. 

Twenty-two  years  before  Ella  Boyne  had  made  up 
her  mind,  with  a  quite  amazing  and  cynical  delibera- 
tion for  one  so  young,  to  marry  dapper  little  Win- 
throp  Blair,  whose  neat  good  looks  and  shy,  pleas- 
ing manners  would,  she  thought,  form  an  amicable 
background  to  her  social  progress.  Their  married 
life  proved  to  be  a  harmonious,  well-ordered  process 
of  existence.  New  York  knew  them  in  winter;  Bar 
Harbor  in  summer.  That  women  invariably  re- 
ferred to  them  as  **Ella  Blair  and  her  husband,"  and 
men  scarcely  referred  to  him  at  all,  is  perhaps  the 
most  illuminating  comment  that  can  be  made  upon 
their  mutual  happiness  and  characteristics. 

Upon  this  particular  afternoon  the  knowledge  that 
something  had  occurred  to  upset  visibly  his  wife's 
equanimity  made  Winthrop  Blair  vaguely  angry 
with  the  unknowns  who  had  been  responsible.  He 
stirred  uneasily  in  his  chair,  waiting  for  her  to  be- 
gin— as  he  knew  she  would  begin. 

*TVe  got  to  talk  to  you  about  Margaret,"  she  said 
suddenly. 

This  frankly  startled  him.    His  wife  rarely  con- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  219 

suited  him  on  any  matter;  least  of  all  concerning 
their  daughter.  That  was  an  affair  supposed  to  be  en- 
tirely in  her  hands.  Moreover,  he  disliked  discussing 
family  intimacies;  it  seemed,  somehow,  crude. 

"I've  just  been,"  his  wife  continued,  with  a  rising 
inflection  of  her  thin  voice,  ''to  Mrs.  Beekman  Jones' 
to  tea.  She  sent  for  me  suddenly — why,  I  couldn't 
imagine,  until  I  got  there.  However — here's  the 
story.  I  suppose  you've  realised  that  Margaret's 
been  running  around  a  good  deal  with  Hal  Jones,  her 
son?" 

He  replied  negligently  that  he  had  gathered  some- 
thing to  that  effect,  from  chance  remarks  of  Mar- 
garet herself. 

"I  was  pleased,"  Mrs.  Blair  went  on,  " — quite 
pleased.  He  is  a  nice  boy  with  beautiful  manners, 
and  a  remarkable  education.  He  was  so  valuable 
during  the  War,  in  fact,  that  they  took  him  into  the 
something-or-other  Food  Commission  instead  of  the 
army.  A  girl  like  Margaret,  you  know,  won't  stay 
unmarried  for  long ;  we  must  realise  that.  And  so  I 
thought —  Well,  I  thought  that  Hal  Jones  would 
be  eminently  suitable.  He's  so  nice ;  he  never  omits 
to  come  up  and  have  a  little  chat  with  me  at  dances. 
They've  money  too,  and  their  position  is  of  course 
assured " 

She  broke  off,  surveying  her  husband  with  pierc- 
ing intensity. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Winthrop.  Say  something, 
won't  you?" 


220  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

"I  want  Margaret  to  marry  whoever  she  wishes," 
he  said  gently,  " — as  long  as  the  man's  decent  and 
respectable." 

She  wrung  her  hands  helplessly. 

"Oh  Winthrop,  Winthrop,  you'll  be  the  death  of 
me  yet — such  elementary  ideas.  Now  listen  to  what 
has  happened.  I  found  Mrs.  Beekman  Jones  in  her 
drawing  room,  and  in  quite  a  rage.  She  opened 
fire  on  me  immediately.  My  dear,  I  hardly  had  time 
to  sit  down  before  she  launched  forth.  Hardly  de- 
cent, I  thought — still,  you  know  that  her  marriage 
completely  turned  her  head.  ...  I  was  so  nervous 
that  I  spilled  my  tea,  and  nearly  ruined  this  dress. 
She  said  that  Margaret  had  been  encouraging  Hal, 
leading  him  on  month  after  month,  and  that  the  poor 
boy  was  desperately  in  love  with  her.  Last  night,  it 
seems,  they  went  to  a  restaurant  in  Forty-Second 
Street  after  the  Junior  Assembly  and  there,  because 
he  couldn't  wait  any  longer,  he  proposed  to  her. 
She  turned  him  down  flatly.  And  when  he  asked 
for  a  reason,  what  do  you  think  she  said?" 

**What  did  she  say,  my  dear?"  Winthrop  asked 
in  an  awe-inspired  voice.  Anything  that  Margaret 
said  or  did  went  unquestioned  with  him;  she  was 
perfection.  Indeed,  he  never  actually  ceased  to 
wonder  that  this  superb,  beautiful  creature  could  be 
his  own  daughter. 

**She  said — "  Mrs.  Blair  enunciated  each  word 
slowly  and  with  dramatic  emphasis,  " — she  said  that 
*there  was  another'  1" 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  221 

"Ah  !**  said  Winthrop  Blair,  and  smiled  furtively. 

"Of  all  people — that  useless,  scatterbrained  Gail 
boy!" 

Winthrop  Blair  was  surprised;  he  sat  up  straight 
in  his  chair.  Yet  he  continued  to  smile;  he  was 
thinking  of  the  outraged  Mrs.  Beekman  Jones,  and 
her  over  mannered  son  whom  he  secretly  detested. 
What  was  it  that  the  young  people  called  him  in 
their  peculiar  modem  slang?  A — a  lounge  lizard — 
yes,  that  was  it.  .  .  . 

"Gail's  a  manly  fellow,  after  all,"  he  ventured. 
"Young  Jones  isn't  the  husband  I'd  pick  for  Mar- 
garet. He  seems  to  spend  eighteen  hours  out  of 
the  twenty- four  dancing " 

"You're  wandering  from  the  point,'*  his  wife  in- 
terrupted with  some  asperity.  "Gail  never  proposed 
to  Margaret — at  least  she's  never  told  me  so.  And 
she  apparently  cares  for  him;  the  dreadful  part  of 
it  all  is  that  she  told  it  to  Hal  Jones.  I  can't  think 
where  her  pride  is.    Now  when  I  was  a  girl " 

"My  dear,"  he  interrupted  with  unusual  insist- 
ence, "please  do  not  let  us  make  that  fatal,  timeworn 
mistake  of  comparing  the  habits  of  our  generation 
with  theirs.  The  more  of  our  traditions  they  can 
discard  the  happier  they  seem  to  be.  The  frank  con- 
fidences of  an  early  morning  breakfast  in  a  buck- 
wheat establishment  after  a  dance  were  unknown  to 
us.    We  can  hardly  judge " 

There  was  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes  that  puzzled  her ; 
she  had  momentary  fear  that  his  sense  of  humor  ha4 


222  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

attained  some  subtle  depth  beyond  her  own  capacity. 

''You  have  such  queer  streaks  in  you  at  times/* 
she  protested;  and  then,  to  his  utter  discomfort,  a 
large  tear  rolled  down  her  fleshy  cheek. 

"I — I  want  Margaret  to  be  happy,"  she  said,  with 
a  truly  wonderful  inconsistence. 

II 

Margaret  came  in  late  that  afternoon  from  a 
shopping  expedition,  very  tired,  laden  down  with 
packages.    Mrs.  Blair  followed  her  to  her  bedroom. 

*Mrs.  Beekman  Jones  has  told  me  all,"  she  an- 
nounced theatrically  as  Margaret  took  off  her  hat, 
glanced  at  herself  in  the  mirror  and  frowned.  Mar- 
garet darted  her  a  look  of  puzzled  incomprehension. 

'Oh,"  she  said  with  a  forced  litde  laugh,  flinging 
herself  into  a  chair,  " — you  mean  about  Hal's  pro- 
posing? It  was  positively  a  scream,  wasn't  it?" 
And  then,  seeing  her  mother's  expression,  added 
hastily:  "Surely  that  didn't  upset  you,  did  it, 
Mother?" 

Mrs.  Blair  sat  down  too;  folded  her  hands  in  her 
lap. 

''Well — I  hardly  know  what  to  say,  to  tell  you  the 
truth.  Of  course,  I  couldn't  help  noticing  your  go- 
ing about  with  Hal  Jones  week  after  week,  but  I 
said  nothing.  What  he  did  was  perhaps  only 
natural,  in  view  of  the  encouragement  you  gave 
him." 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  223 

Margaret's  eyes  grew  widely  incredulous. 

*'Why,  Mother — you  don't,  you  couldn't  mean 
that  you  thought  that  I'd  ever  nmrry  Hal  Jones?'* 

She  was  utterly  genuine  in  her  astonishment,  but 
the  half -nervous,  half -scornful  little  smile  that  came 
to  her  lips  aroused  her  mother's  indignation. 

"He's  not  to  be  sneered  at,  my  dear  child — even 
if  you  don't  like  him.  He  has  everything  that  one 
would  require.  Of  course — "  she  was  suddenly  flus- 
tered, ill  at  ease  under  Margaret's  coolness,  " — of 
course  I  can't  discuss  this  kind  of  thing  in  such  a 
cold-blooded  way;  it  would  be  indelicate,  to  say  the 
least.  But — "  she  concluded  with  a  triumphant 
note — "but  I  must  say  that  I  think  you  dismissed 
him  in  an  awfully  abrupt,  casual  sort  of  way.  At 
least,  if  you  were  positive  you  could  never  care  for 
him — **  Mrs.  Blair  never  employed  the  word  "love" ; 
it  had  a  common  twang  to  it,  she  thought  " — if 
you  were  positive,  you  might  have  given  the  poor 
boy  some  reason,  after  trotting  around  with  him  all 
these  weeks.'* 

Margaret  stood  up,  clasped  her  hands  behind  her 
back  and  spoke  with  careful  deliberation. 

"But,  Mother  dear,  I  did  give  him  a  reason.  As 
for  trotting  around  with  him — why,  I  supposed  it 
amused  him  just  as  much  as  it  did  me.  He's  a  won- 
derful dancer  and  talks  amusingly,  but  no  one  ever 
took  him  seriously — except  as  a  provider  of  a  pleas- 
ant hour  or  two.  He's  not  even  original;  he's  one 
of  those  people  who  love  to  say  a  good  thing  without 


224  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

taking  the  trouble  of  inventing  it. — The  reason  I 
gave  for  refusing  his — ^his  offer,  was  that  I  loved 
Everett  Gail.'^ 

"Everett  Gail!" 

Mrs.  Blair  flushed  unbecomingly. 

*'You  mean  to  say  that  you  actually  told  Hal  Jones 
that  you  v^ere  in  love  with  that  Gail  boy?  Good 
gracious,  Margaret,  what  has  come  over  you  ?  Did 
young  Gail  ever  propose  to  you?" 

"No,  indeed.  But  he  would  without  a  doubt,  if  I 
encouraged  him  sufficiently." 

"This  is  most  distressing  to  hear.  Where  is  the 
boy  now?" 

"He's  down  in  the  West  Indies  somewhere,  roam- 
ing around.    But  he'll  be  back.    I  can  wait." 

"I  should  think  you  could  wait!" 

Thoroughly  aroused,  her  mother  rose  from  the 
chair  and  began  to  pace  nervously  up  and  down  the 
room.    She  spoke  rapidly : 

"I  don't  know  what  the  world's  coming  to — young 
girls  running  about  telling  young  men  that  they're 
in  love  with  other  young  men,  who  haven't  even  pro- 
posed to  them.     It's  positively  indecent " 

"There's  no  harm  in  being  in  love,"  Margaret  in- 
terposed gently. 

"Perhaps  not — but  one  doesn't  scream  it  from  the 
housetops.  Besides,  this  Gail  boy  is  hopeless.  His 
family  are  all  right  in  their  way — nice,  stodgy  old 
things,  but  they  can't  do  anything  with  him.  His 
mother  as  much  as  told  me  so  herself." 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  225 


"They  don^t  understand  him- 


"If  they  can't,  no  one  else  can." 

Margaret  came  up  to  her,  put  her  arms  about  her 
neck. 

"Please,"  she  pleaded.  "Can't  we  avoid  discuss- 
ing this — this  kind  of  thing.  You  don't  know 
Everett ;  you  can't  judge  by  what  people  say.  He's 
really  got  more  to  him  than  all  the  rest  of  his  friends 
put  together.  He  has  a  little  germ  of  restlessness  in 
his  system  that  he  has  to  get  rid  of ;  that's  all." 

Mrs.  Blair  was  still  dubious,  but  somewhat  molli- 
fied.   She  pecked  swiftly  at  Margaret's  cheek. 

"There — I'm  sorry  if  I  spoke  crossly.  We'll  drop 
the  matter  for  the  present.  As  I  told  your  father  a 
few  minutes  ago,  I  only  want  to  see  you  happy." 

And  she  bustled  out  of  the  room,  her  mind  already 
absorbed  in  other  matters.  She  had  suddenly  re- 
membered about  a  dinner  that  she  was  giving  that 
night  .  .  .  the  flowers  had  not  arrived  yet.  Margaret 
heard  her  thin  voice,  complaining  down  the  hall ;  the 
English  butler  trying,  stiffly,  to  appease  her. 

The  door  of  her  room  opened  and  her  father 
peered  in,  his  bright  little  eyes  blinking  over  the  tops 
of  his  pince-nez. 

"Can  I  come  in,  Margaret?" 

"Why  of  course,  Father." 

He  tiptoed  up  to  her,  kissed  her,  and  tiptoed  away 
again.  At  the  door  he  paused  irresolutely,  his  hand 
upon  the  fragile  glass  handle. 

"Don't  be  angry  with  your  mother,"  he  whis- 


18 


226  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

pered ;  and  jerked  his  head  nervously  over  his  shoul- 
der toward  the  distant  sound  of  his  wife's  voice. 
"She  was — a  little  bit  disappointed  about  the  Jones* 
business.  I'm  afraid  she  had  false  hopes — but  she 
wants  you  to  be  happy.  We  all  do.  Between  our- 
selves, I  never  could  stand  that  Jones  boy  myself. 
His  father  was  a  conceited,  overdressed  ass — made  a 
great  hullabaloo  over  town  about  his  coaches,  and 
couldn't  even  drive  a  four-in-hand  properly.  .  .  ." 

He  went  away,  chuckling  softly  to  himself. 

Margaret  felt  a  little  lump  rising  in  her  throat. 


CHAPTER  III 


Those  young  caballeros  of  Santa  Palma  whose 
habit  it  was  to  take  their  after  dinner  coffee  at  the 
Bodega  de  Madrid  in  the  arcade  of  the  Plaza 
Nacional  were  accustomed  to  seeing  there  nightly  a 
certain  mild-looking  old  man  with  a  rotund,  cylin- 
drical figure ;  an  old  man  who  always  wore  the  same 
badly-creased  suit  of  pongee,  the  unbuttoned  coat 
of  which  revealed  a  damp,  crinkled  expanse  of 
silken-clad  stomach;  the  color  of  the  silk  had  long 
since  departed,  the  starched  cuffs  of  the  shirt  were 
frayed  like  the  edge  of  a  fine  saw.  He  was  invari- 
ably there,  night  after  night  at  the  same  marble- 
topped  table,  pathetically  making  one  meagre  cup  of 
coffee  last  through  the  evening,  and  constantly  fan- 
ning his  moist  bald  head  with  a  disreputable  Panama. 
No  one  ever  spoke  to  him  except  the  waiter — and, 
occasionally,  the  proprietor  of  the  Bodega.  He  ap- 
peared to  have  no  friends,  but  his  eyes  were  ever 
alert,  searching  the  crowds  about  him,  taking  in 
every  minor  incident  of  the  evening.  Indeed,  his 
astonishing  interest  in  life  seemed  almost  oddly  at 

227 


228  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

variance  with  his  own  appearance  of  exhausted 
vitality.  A  lonely,  rather  helpless  old  creature,  the 
cahalleros  decided,  an  Americano  obviously,  and  one 
who  had  seen  better  days. 

His  name,  although  the  cahoUeros  did  not  know 
it,  was  Elbert  Wing.  Had  they  heard  it  they  would 
have  been  none  the  wiser,  for  in  the  days  that  he 
had  attained  his  glory  they  were  being  weaned. 
Elbert  Wing's  dispatches  from  Manilla  during  the 
Spanish- American  War  had  been  eagerly  scanned  by 
thousands ;  newspapers  fought  for  him.  In  his  time 
he  had  been  known  from  the  Battery  to  the  'Frisco 
Embarcadero  as  a  journalist  of  the  highest  calibre. 

Lifted  to  sudden  fame  through  a  chain  of  fortu- 
nate circumstances,  he  perhaps  acquired  a  reputation 
that  was  beyond  human  capabilities  to  sustain.  His 
work  was  little  more  than  mediocre  in  the  Russo- 
Japanese  conflict,  but  he  succeeded  in  acquiring  some 
notoriety  through  his  Balkan  dispatches  of  191 2 — 
his  account  of  Kirk  Kilisse  is  still  remembered  in 
Fleet  Street  as  well  as  Park  Row.  It  was,  in  fact, 
not  until  191 7  that  his  actual  downfall  took  place. 
As  special  correspondent  for  the  Independent  Press 
he  roamed  about  Russia  for  eighteen  months,  and 
presently  found  himself  in  the  thick  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. And  then,  in  the  morass  of  conflicting  politi- 
cal issues  which  followed  the  Kerensky  debacle  he 
lost  his  self-confidence;  there  became  apparent  in 
his  work  a  certain  growing  diffusion,  a  lack  of  con- 
viction in  what  he  had  to  state.     McCarthy  of  the 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  229 

Independent  ultimately  consigned  his  dispatches  to 
the  waste  basket  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  cabled 
his  recall. 

For  sentiment's  sake  they  sent  him  on  a  patriotic 
round  of  the  National  Army  Cantonments  in  the 
autumn  of  1917,  but  his  elaborate  work  no  longer 
pleased  an  impatient  public.  To  be  able  to  write 
superb  English  was  one  thing,  but  to  grip  the  im- 
agination of  a  war-trammeled  people  in  the  newer 
journalistic  style  of  apt  and  flippant  phrasing  was 
another — ^and  beyond  his  powers. 

He  disappeared.  Park  Row  missed  him  for  a 
month ;  then  forgot  all  about  him.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  had  embarked  on  a  tour  of  the  West  Indies 
to  write  a  series  of  articles  for  an  ingratiating  travel 
agency  which  was  financially  tottering.  When  he 
reached  Santa  Palma  the  agency  went  suddenly  de- 
funct; his  services  were  no  longer  required.  The 
financial  results  of  his  career,  or  what  remained  of 
them,  were  in  a  wallet  upon  his  person.  This  was 
diminished  by  a  siege  of  typhoid,  which  he  barely 
pulled  through. 

He  lingered  on  week  after  week  at  Santa  Palma, 
ambitionless  and  broken-hearted.  He  hired  an  attic 
bedroom  above  the  Bodega  de  Madrid,  a  place  of 
sawdust,  sloppy  tables  and  gambling  machines,  whose 
atmosphere  was  perpetually  pungent  with  stale 
Cuban  tobacco.  Life  assumed  something  of  the 
grotesqueness  of  a  prolonged  nightmare ;  it  was  only 
in  his  dreams  that  he  lived  in  a  semblance  of  reality. 


230  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Yet  he  remained  there,  knowing  full  well  that  in  the 
North  he  could  not  exist  on  the  pitiful  sum  he  still 
possessed. 

He  had  been  in  Santa  Palma  two  months  when 
he  first  heard  whispers  of  a  possible  political  up- 
heaval ;  it  was  said  that  Jose  Rodriguez,  the  planter, 
was  a  mortal  enemy  of  the  Pinar  government,  that 
he  was  angered  at  their  apparent  intention  to  rule 
Esperanza  until  eternity.  Wing  had,  during  his 
travels,  picked  up  enough  Spanish  to  enable  him  to 
hold  jerky  little  conversations  with  his  landlord — 
the  Bodega  proprietor;  moreover  he  read  El 
Tiempo  daily.  The  increasing  rumors  of  a  revolu- 
tion did  not  at  first  arouse  his  interest,  for  to 
one  who  had  seen  the  passes  of  Galicia  crowded 
with  dying  thousands,  a  tinsel  uprising  on  an  island 
of  palm  trees  was  to  be  regarded  as  a  farce.  It 
was  the  death  of  Corcovado,  which  he  happened 
to  witness  through  the  open  doors  of  the  Teatro 
Municipal,  that  opened  his  eyes  to  the  remarkable 
state  of  affairs  in  Esperanza,  and  at  the  same  time 
revived  his  dying  interest  in  the  world  about  him. 

He  underwent  a  transformation;  he  felt  once 
more  the  old  craving  for  excitement;  the  zest  of 
life;  the  urge  to  seek  news,  irrepressible  and  tumul- 
tuous within  him,  that  had  once  carried  him  to  a 
short-lived  fame.  He  sat  up  the  whole  of  the  night 
in  his  attic  bedroom  under  the  flickering  light  of  a 
candle,  penning  an  article  concerning  the  death  of 
Corcovado    and    the    circumstances,    political    and 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  231 

otherwise,  that  had  led  up  to  it.  Having  no  cable 
facilities  at  his  disposal  he  was  obliged  to  mail  it 
to  New  York. 

McCarthy  of  the  Independent  Press  received  the 
article;  read  it,  amazed,  as  if  he  were  scanning  a 
document  from  the  grave.  Wing's  last  paragraph 
said:  '^Strangely  enough  Jose  Rodriguez  has  a 
young  American  as  his  chauffeur.  The  lad  made 
an  attempt  to  avenge  Corcovado's  death  in  the 
lobby  of  the  theatre,  but  was  held  back  by  some- 
one in  the  crowd.  ..."  McCarthy  cut  the  article 
down  to  two  dozen  lines  for  publication,  but  sent 
a  cheque  covering  the  whole  of  it  to  Santa  Palma; 
he  was  a  man  who  was  accustomed  to  reading  be- 
tween lines,  and  the  feebleness  of  Wing's  hand- 
writing was  eloquent. 

The  presence  of  this  young  American  on  the 
staff  of  Don  Jose  interested  Wing  not  a  little;  the 
more  he  gave  the  matter  consideration  the  more 
curious  he  became.  Eventually  he  summoned  the 
remnants  of  his  old-time  aggressiveness  and  plodded 
up  the  winding  road  to  the  Casa  Azul,  determined 
to  obtain  an  interview  either  from  the  American 
boy  or  Rodriguez  himself.  He  did  not  succeed  in 
even  entering  the  house.  An  irascible  negro  servant, 
on  hearing  the  nature  of  his  mission,  slammed  the 
door  in  his  face.  He  tried  again  a  week  later,  with 
equal  unsuccess,  and  his  second  failure  plunged 
him  into  such  depths  of  depression  that  on  his 
return  to  the  Bodega  he  proceeded  to  consume  cheap 


232  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

cognac  with  cynical  deliberation  until  all  his  sorrows 
were  mercifully  obliterated.  His  amiable  landlord, 
assisted  by  the  waiter,  carried  him  upstairs  at  mid- 
night and  tenderly  put  him  to  bed. 

II 

As  the  days  went  by  the  bodega  gossip  of 
political  strife  subsided,  but  Elbert  Wing,  with  his 
inherent  faculty  of  sensing  the  barometer  of  public 
thought,  knew  what  was  in  the  air;  knew  that  this 
was  but  the  calm  that  precedes  the  storm.  The 
timely  arrival  of  McCarthy's  cheque  counteracted 
the  depression  that  followed  his  failure  at  the  Casa 
Azul,  and  revived  again  his  drooping  spirits.  He 
waited  eagerly  for  developments. 

Late  in  the  evening  of  the  third  Sunday  in 
January,  as  he  sat  at  his  accustomed  table  outside 
the  Bodega,  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  crowd 
that  was  rapidly  gathering  before  the  doors  of  the 
Intendencia.  It  was  an  orderly  crowd,  almost 
motionless,  as  if  stricken  to  immobility  in  the 
sudden  comprehension  of  some  tremendous  fact. 
He  left  his  table  and  made  his  way  into  the  throng. 
A  uniformed  official,  he  discovered,  was  pasting 
some  kind  of  bulletin  upon  the  plaster  walls  of 
the  building.  The  crowd  swayed,  jostled;  a  con- 
fused murmur  of  voices  arose.  Over  the  shoulders 
of  those  in  front  of  him  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
hurriedly  stencilled  words: 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  233 

Revolutionists,  acting  in  the  name  of  Jose  Rodri- 
guez, attacked  the  garrison  at  Los  Barrios  late  this 
afternoon.  Desperate  fighting  is  taking  place.  Fed- 
eralist troops  still  dominate  the  situation.  Seventeen 
of  the  rebels  have  been  killed. 

Citizens  of  Santa  Palma.  Remain  loyal  to  your 
Government,  and  these  insurgents  will  be  soon  crushed ! 

— HoNORio  Taquin,  Alcalde, 


So  it  had  come  at  last.  .  .  .  Lost  in  thought 
he  allowed  himself  to  be  propelled  along  in  a  re- 
lentless tide  of  humanity,  increasing  by  the  minute, 
that  was  drifting — semingly  impelled  by  some 
mutual  yet  unpremeditated  urge — ^toward  the  twin 
panels  of  light  that  marked  the  wide-flung  doors 
of  the  Cathedral  at  the  end  of  the  Plaza.  Up  the 
steps  the  human  torrent  swept  him,  and  into  the 
lofty,  narrow  knave  that  was  ablaze  with  slender 
candles,  fragrant  with  the  odor  of  burning  incense. 
Already  the  high-backed  pews  of  sombre  mahogany 
were  filled  by  a  silent  congregation  kneeling  at 
prayer;  row  upon  row,  almost  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see,  of  hatless,  white-clad  men;  women  and 
young  girls  in  the  gaudiest  of  cotton  dresses,  their 
bowed  heads  decorously  covered  with  mantillas 
of  the  most  intricate  lace.  Away  beyond  the  silent, 
kneeling  multitude  towered  an  altar  of  azure  and 
gold,  surmounted  with  garish  crucifixes  of  painted 
plaster,  candlesticks  of  burnished  silver,  a  profusion 


2Z4  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

of  artificial  roses — the  whole  a  blazing,  awesome 
tabernacle  of  light  and  color.  .  .  .  The  chant  of 
a  priest  came  floating  down  the  hushed  spaces 
of  the  nave,  faint  and  drowsy  with  distance.  .  .  . 
Ora  pro  nobis.  ... 

He  found  a  vacant  and  inconspicuous  chair  in  a 
corner  of  the  transept  beside  an  elaborately  carved 
confessional.  An  old  woman  knelt  near  him  on  a 
flimsy  stool,  her  back  curved  like  a  bow,  and  sobbed 
out  a  prayer.  He  saw  tears  coursing  down  her 
withered,  bony  cheeks;  and,  watching  her,  Elbert 
Wing  suddenly  understood.  She  was  to  him,  at 
that  moment,  a  symbol  of  the  suffering  that  was 
surely  to  come  upon  Esperanza.  She  was  old,  very 
old.  Others  younger  and  less  perceptive  might 
scorn  her  grief  and  fears,  but  the  passing  of  years 
had  granted  her  an  elemental  wisdom.  The  glamor 
of  battle,  the  exultant  almost  vainglorious  spirit 
that  filled  young  men's  hearts  all  about  her  touched 
her  not  at  all.  She  foresaw  only  blood  and  fire 
and  misery;  so  much  was  written  in  her  eyes. 
Wing  averted  his  gaze  from  her,  somehow  sick  at 
heart. 

As  he  tiptoed  away  toward  the  Cathedral  doors 
the  organ  burst  forth  in  a  tremendous  hymn  that 
soared  to  the  limitless  dusk-laden  heights  of  the 
groined  nave,  thundered  down  triumphantly  upon 
the  kneeling  congregation.  He  passed  through  the 
doors  and  out  into  the  cool  night,  the  while  ponder- 
ing   gravely    over    the    mystic    omnipotence    that 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  235 

overspread  the  world,  radiating  from  the  glittering 
pomp  of  Rome.  .  .  . 

In  the  dark  stillness  of  the  Plaza  two  men,  con- 
versing in  low  tones  upon  a  park  bench,  attracted 
his  attention;  there  reached  his  ears  the  unusual, 
almost  startling  sound  of  his  mother  tongue  being 
spoken.  He  glanced  at  them,  curiously,  as  he  passed. 
One  of  them,  the  younger  of  the  two,  he  instantly 
recognized  as  Don  Jose's  American  chauffeur;  the 
other — ^he  halted  abruptly  in  the  welcome  shadow 
of  a  tamarind,  his  heart  beating  a  triphammer 
song,  an  expression  of  utter  amazement  upon  his 
mild,  good-natured  face. 

A  moment  later  he  turned  and,  with  an  effort  at 
outward  unconcern,  walked  back  past  the  bench. 
He  glanced  again,  cautiously,  at  the  men.  Just  as 
he  passed  the  elder  of  them  struck  a  match,  cupped 
his  hand  about  it,  and  lighted  a  cigarette.  His 
profile  was  for  a  brief  instant  clearly  visible  in  the 
burst  of  yellow  flame. 

"Erik  Tegel,"  said  Elbert  Wing  to  himself. 
"Good  God!" 

He  hurried  on,  incredulous  and  shaken. 

Seeming  suddenly  to  reach  a  decision,  he  glided 
into  the  darkness  beneath  the  trees,  circled  to  a 
spot  some  ten  yards  behind  the  bench  where  the 
two  men  were  seated — and  waited.  Through  his 
mind  there  swept  a  hurried  yet  vivid  recollection 
of  a  certain  snow-covered  street  in  Eastern  Europe ; 
churches    with    gilded    domes    that    glittered    in    a 


236  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

crisply  blue  sky;  a  sleigh,  with  a  young  man  and 
an  old  man  seated  in  it,  driving  past  a  howling, 
frenzied  mob. 

Perhaps  he  waited  there  an  hour — two  hours. 
Time  was  of  no  significance  to  him  that  night.  He 
felt  that  he  was  on  the  eve  of  some  tremendous, 
astonishing  discovery. 

At  last  the  two  men  rose  from  the  bench  and 
walked  briskly  across  the  Plaza.  They  crossed 
the  Calle  Marco,  whose  shops  were  shuttered  and 
deserted,  and  turned  down  a  narrow,  unlit  alleyway. 
Elbert  Wing,  at  a  safe  distance,  started  to  follow 
them. 


CHAPTER  IV 


BiANCA  seemed,  these  days,  to  be  growing 
younger  hourly.  Happiness  had  colored  her 
beauty  to  a  new  radiance;  had  endowed  her  with 
a  certain  lightness  of  spirit  not  evident  before. 

Everett's  sentiment  toward  her  was  complex  and 
wholly  indefinable;  a  mixture  of  objective  admi- 
ration and  heady  emotions.  He  was  one  of  those 
beings  who  had  within  him,  unknowingly,  all  the 
artist's  susceptibility  to  beauty,  but  not  the  artist's 
creative  outlet  for  that  susceptibility.  Whether  he 
actually  loved  Bianca  he  did  not  ask  himself — not 
because  he  hesitated  to  do  so,  but  because  it  never 
for  an  instant  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  not 
gloriously  in  love  with  her. 

Sometimes  she  was  like  an  exquisite  goddess, 
serene  and  remote  above  human  foibles.  And  then 
again  the  sheer  proximity  of  her,  or  perhaps  a 
deliberately  lingering  glance  of  her  poignant  eyes 
would  rouse  within  him  the  sudden  white  flame 
of  youthful  passion;  during  those  moments,  indeed, 
she  was  adorably  human,  and  adorably  a 
woman.  .  .  . 

237 


238  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

She  managed  to  hold  his  affections  without  the 
creation  of  artificial  bonds,  never  permitting  her 
love  for  him  to  become  a  cloying  thing.  She  made 
no  apparent  attempt  to  hold  him  at  her  side,  no 
demands  upon  his  freedom.  And  he,  inwardly  con- 
scious that  his  liberty  was  intact,  was  in  manlike 
fashion  selfishly  pleased  to  seek  her  of  his  own 
accord. 

On  the  evening  of  the  third  Sunday  in  January 
they  were  sitting  together  in  the  slanting  twilight 
shadows  of  the  verandah.  She,  in  one  of  her 
peculiarly  quiet,  industrious  moods,  was  sewing; 
he  smoking  a  cigarette,  stirring  restlessly  now  and 
then  in  his  chair.  He  had  not  seen  Don  Jose  for 
many  days,  nor  Tegel,  and  an  uncertainty  con- 
cerning the  pregnant  future  filled  him  with  a  vague 
uneasiness.  This  he  strove  to  conceal,  but  she  was 
quick  to  sense  it.  Presently  she  put  down  her 
sewing,  crossed  over  to  his  chair  and  perched  her- 
self gently  upon  the  arm  of  it  with  an  effortless 
grace. 

*Toor  boy,*'  she  said,  kissing  his  forehead  lightly. 
"You're  very  restless ;  I  can  see  that — "  Her  voice 
grew  wistful.  *T  ought  to  have  known  that  you 
couldn't  be  happy  here  with  me  forever — doing 
nothing." 

"Nonsense."  He  tried  to  laugh,  wishing  in- 
wardly that  her  perceptive  powers  were  not  so 
unutterably  keen. 

"Nonsense,  you  say.    And  yet,  my  dear  Everett, 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  239 

you  seem  to  think  that  I  don't  realize  that  you  will 
never — care  for  me,  as  I  do  for  you.  No — don't 
look  angry!  It  is  nothing  to  blame  yourself  about. 
You  have  been  as  good  and  sweet  to  me  as  you 
possibly  could  be,  and  for  that  alone  I  am 
happy " 

And  then,  just  as  lovers  have  done  since  the  dawn 
of  the  world,  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  tried  to 
give  her  the  assurances  he  felt  due  her. 

Some  minutes  later  they  observed  a  servant  boy 
hurrying  from  the  Casa  Azul  through  the  shadowy 
dusk  of  the  garden  toward  them.  She  went  back 
to  her  chair;  resumed  her  sewing. 

The  boy  came  up  to  Everett  and  bowed. 

"Seiior  Tegel  desires  to  see  Seiior  Gail  imme- 
diately at  the  Casa  Azul." 

He  bowed  once  again  and  departed.  Everett 
turned  to  Bianca. 

"You  see,"  he  said  soberly.  "They've  sent  for 
me.  It  must  mean  that — something's  going  to 
happen." 

She  seemed,  of  a  sudden,  to  have  lost  the  color 
in  the  gentle  curve  of  her  cheek;  she  was,  at  the 
moment,  almost  ethereal.  When  she  answered  it 
was  in  her  native  tongue,  her  voice  but  a  whisper. 
For  an  instant  her  arm  clung  to  his  in  a  fierce  little 
embrace. 

"Vaya  con  Dios/'  she  said,  a  tremendous  light 
shining  in  her  eyes.  "The  moment  has  come  at 
last — "  her  lips  quivered,  but  she   fought  herself 


240  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

bravely  to  an  unflinching  calm.  "Oh  Everett,  my 
dearest,  this  adventure  of  Don  Jose's  is  a  dangerous 
thing.  Take  care  of  thyself — come  back  to 
me.  .  .  r 


II 


Tegel  was  waiting  for  him,  impatiently,  at  the 
door  of  the  Casa  Azul.    They  shook  hands  gravely. 

**Get  your  hat,"  Tegel  said  abruptly,  the  ex- 
pression on  his  hard,  colorless  features  inscrutable 
as  ever,  *' — and  also  a  pistol  and  holster.  You 
will  find  one  in  the  arms  chest  behind  the  stairs; 
here  is  the  key.  It  is  just  as  well  to  be  armed 
these  days ;  there  may  be  trouble  at  any  moment.  See, 
too,  that  you  wear  the  weapon  concealed,  — Now 
hurry,  while  I  wait  for  you." 

He  found  a  45-calibre  automatic,  cartridges  and 
leather  holster,  in  the  arms  chest  as  Tegel  had  in- 
dicated. He  rejoined  him  upon  the  steps  a  moment 
later,  and  together  they  hurried  out  to  the  road, 
turned  toward  Santa  Palma  all  crimson  in  the  set- 
ting sun.  The  harbor  was  deserted,  a  blinding 
mirror  of  silver;  not  a  breath  of  air  stirred  the 
drooping,  dust-laden  leaves  of  the  mangos  that  lined 
the  roadside. 

"There  is  news,"  Tegel  volunteered,  quickening 
his  pace.  "We  are  on  the  eve  of  great  events. 
The  southern  division  of  the  Valientes,  acting  under 
orders,  attacked  the  garrison  at  Los  Barrios  this 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  241 

aftemcx)n.  They  are  fighting  hard,  but  as  our 
agents  have  cut  the  transinsular  telegraph  wires  for 
our  own  protection  we  cannot  get  any  news.  Don 
Jose  will  tell  us  what  has  happened  when  he  ar- 
rives in  Santa  Palma  tonight — in  disguise,  of 
course." 

"Where  are  we  to  meet  him?"  Everett  asked. 

'That  is  all  arranged.  We  have  secret  head- 
quarters in  an  abandoned  house  just  below  the 
Morro.  We  must  go  there  on  foot — any  other 
method  would  be  too  conspicuous." 

"And  after  that ?" 

Tegel  shook  his  head. 

"In  an  affair  like  this  individual  plans  are  made 
from  moment  to  moment.  Don  Jose  is  very  anxious 
to  restrain  the  Santa  Palma  Valientes  from  acting 
until  the  right  moment  arrives — that  will  be  when 
Los  Barrios  has  been  captured  and  the  southern 
division  is  marching  northward.  But  it  is  hard  to 
withstrain  these  lads;  they  are  hot-headed,  impul- 
sive. Even  this  afternoon  I  had  to  break  up  their 
plans  for  a  suicidal  procession  through  the  streets 
of  Santa  Palma " 

He  broke  off;  relapsed  into  a  thoughtful  silence. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  they  reached  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town.  Ahead  of  them  an  old  man 
carrying  a  pole  was  trudging  through  the  narrow, 
cobblestoned  streets,  zigzagging  fom  lamp-post  to 
lamp-post,  creating  mellow  bursts  of  yellow  light 
in  the  gathering  gloom.     They  made  their  way  to 


242  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

an  unpretentious  little  fonda  on  the  Calle  Marco 
and  supped  in  silence. 

At  nine  o'clock  they  were  seated  on  a  bench  in 
the  Plaza  Nacional.  Through  the  foliage  of  the 
tamarinds  the  arc  lights  of  the  Intendencia  shone 
in  irregular  bursts  of  silvery  light,  and  there  came 
to  their  ears  the  distant  muffled  music  of  the 
Cathedral  organ,  a  rising  and  falling  cadence  of 
vibrating  sound. 

"Do  you  know,"  Everett  remarked  whimsically, 
*'that  you've  never  told  me  anything  about  your- 
self— Mr.  Tegel?  We're  to  be  thrown  together  in 
our  work.  Don't  you  think  you  might  divulge 
some  of  your  past?  — You're  really  a  very  mys- 
terious kind  of  person." 

Tegel    flicked    the   ashes    from    his    cigarette; 
laughed. 

**What  is  it  you  want  to  know  about  me,  my 
young  friend?" 

"Well — your  nationality,  for  instance." 

*T  am  a  citizen  of  the  world.  I  claim  allegiance 
to  no  nation;  and,  conversely,  I  am  not  bound  in 
honor  to  serve  any  flag,  man,  or  group  of  men." 

"How  did  you  find  your  way  into  Don  Jose's 
services,  then?" 

"A  combination  of  circumstances  which — frankly 
- — I  am  not  going  to  divulge.  There  is  absolutely 
no  use  trying  to — pump  me.  I  am  loyal  to  the 
cause  that  you  are  serving;  that  should  be  sufficient 
knowledge  for  you.    — By  the  way,  did  you  notice 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  243 

that  rather  stout  old  man  in  a  straw-colored  suit 
who  passed  by  us  a  moment  ago?  He  seemed  to 
be  extremely  interested  in  us." 

**No,"  Everett  said,  with  a  trace  of  asperity. 
"I  didn't  notice  him — and  I  think  that  you're  a 
danmed  close-mouthed  fellow,  Tegel." 

*'It  is  every  man's  privilege,  my  dear  Mr.  Gail, 
to  be  close-mouthed,  as  you  call  it.  Perhaps  when 
you  are  a  little  older  you  will  discover  that  the  less 
a  man  tells  about  himself  in  this  world  the  more 
he  is  respected.  — Have  another  cigarette,  won't 
you?" 

Ill 

For  fully  half  an  hour  Tegel  had  led  the  way 
through  an  intricate  maze  of  narrow,  high- walled 
alleys,  lightless  and  deserted,  until  at  last  they 
emerged  from  the  town  and  found  themselves  upon 
a  rock-bound  neck  of  land  that  jutted  seaward  to 
the  east  of  the  harbor.  In  the  uncertain,  blue-gray 
light  of  a  virginal  moon  that  hung  high  in  a 
cloudless  sky  Everett  could  discern,  across  the 
water,  the  outline  of  the  western  shore,  and  the 
squat,  square  bulk  of  the  Casa  Azul  looming  above 
an  opaque  mass  of  foliage  near  the  seagirt^  end  of 
the  promontory. 

Tegel  ahead  of  him  halted,  his  head  alertly  poised. 

"I  thought  I  heard  someone  following  us,"  he 
muttered. 

Everett  peered  back  through  the  gloom  toward 


244  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

the  jumbled  mass  of  houses  that  marked  the  sudden 
end  of  the  town.     He  saw  nothing;  heard  nothing. 

Tegel  laughed,  a  shade  nervously. 

**I  am  imagining  things.  — Come.  We  must 
not  be  late  for  Don  Jose." 

They  hurried  onward,  stumbling  frequently  upon 
fragments  of  rock  that  strewed  the  irregular  path. 
Perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  of  them  Everett 
could  see  the  gloomy  pile  of  Morro  Castle  rising 
dimly  against  the  lighter  background  of  the  night. 
Presently  Tegel  left  the  path  and  began  to  clamber 
down  the  steep,  rocky  slope  toward  the  harbor. 

They  eventually  reached  the  water's  edge  and 
he  proceeded  to  lead  the  way  along  a  curving 
stretch  of  beach.  Rounding  a  jutting  wall  of  rock, 
after  five  minutes'  walking,  they  came  quite  suddenly 
upon  a  house,  a  dilapidated  single-story  structure 
of  wood  perched  insecurely  upon  the  slope  some 
twenty  feet  above  the  placid  waters  of  the  harbor. 

"This,''  Tegel  explained  as  they  mounted  a 
flight  of  flimsy  steps  and  stood  outside  the  door, 
**used  to  be  a  fisherman's  resort — and  a  meeting 
place  for  smugglers.  There  was  a  prohibitive  tax 
upon  the  import  of  Jamaica  rum  in  those  days,  and 
the  smugglers  carried  on  a  profitable  trade.  .  .  . 
Pinar  had  the  house  closed  some  years  ago,  and 
now  Don  Jose  finds  it  an  ideal  spot  for  a  secret 
headquarters." 

The  door  was  presently  opened  from  within, 
and  they  entered  a  large,  bare  room  illy-lighted  by 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  245 

a  single  oil  lamp  that  hung  from  the  blackened 
rafters  of  a  low  ceiling.  The  atmosphere  was 
redolent  of  stale  tobacco.  There  were,  scattered 
haphazard  about  the  room,  a  number  of  straw- 
bottomed  chairs  battered  and  worn  with  age;  six 
or  seven  primitive  pine  tables  bearing  tumblers 
stained  with  red  wine,  and  overturned  bottles.  The 
floor,  Everett  noticed,  was  littered  with  cigarette 
stubs,  burnt  matches,  and  scraps  of  paper.  The 
room  had,  generally,  the  appearance  of  having 
very  recently  been  the  meeting  place  of  a  consider- 
able gathering  of  men. 

He  who  had  opened  the  door,  a  cringing, 
diminutive  old  man  whose  features  were  practi- 
cally invisible  in  the  dimness  of  the  lamplight,  bowed 
as  they  entered.  Before  sitting  down  Tegel  called 
him  aside  and  began  to  ply  him  with  questions  in 
hurried,  whispered  Spanish.  The  old  man  replied 
volubly,  with  an  increasing  excitement,  indicating 
the  empty  room  with  a  sweeping,  comprehensive 
gesture  of  his  arm.  Tegel,  when  he  had  heard 
what  he  had  to  say,  became  livid  with  anger;  the 
old  man's  voice  rose  *to  a  shrill  terrified  treble. 
"Sefior  ...  it  was  no  fault  of  mine  .  .  .  how 
could  I,  an  old  man,  restrain  them.  .  .  ."  At  last 
Tegel,  in  a  fit  of  apparent  exasperation,  pushed 
him  out  of  the  door;  slammed  it  to;  and  rejoined 
Everett. 

*'A  pretty  mess!"  he  cried,  throwing  his  hat 
upon  the  table  and  flinging  his  lanky  frame  into  a 


246  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

chair.  "Two  hours  ago  the  commanders  of  the 
various  Santa  Palma  sections  of  the  Valient es — 
twenty-one  in  all — were  due  here  to  make  their 
reports,  so  that  Don  Jose  on  his  return  might  be 
assured  that  all  was  in  readiness.  Nineteen  of  the 
leaders  appeared,  this  old  agent  tells  me.  The  other 
two,  Alonzo  Murias  of  the  Marina  district  and 
Pablo  Meller  of  Santo  Cerro,  became  impatient 
with  the  delay,  it  seems,  and  started  off  with  their 
men  to  Los  Barrios  to  join  the  fighting  there.  They 
went  without  orders " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  resignedly. 

''They  are  young  fools  and  will  pay  dearly  for 
the  experience,  for  it  is  clear  to  me  that  we  can  only 
stand  against  the  Federalists  if  we  act  unitedly. 
— However,  a  handful  of  men  like  that  will  not 
seriously  affect  our  plans,  one  way  or  another '* 

He  ceased  to  speak,  staring  intently  at  the  door 
as  a  tenuous  shaft  of  moonlight  filtered  into  the 
room,  stole  across  the  walls.  The  door  creaked 
upon  its  hinges;  was  stealthily  opened.  The  figure 
of  a  man  appeared — a  peasant  in  rough  corduroys 
and  clumsy  hobnailed  boots,  a  heavy  leather  belt 
about  his  waist.  A  wide-brimmed  sombrero  of 
black  felt  effectively  shadowed  his  features  from 
the  rays  of  the  solitary  lamp  overhead.  He  closed 
the  door  behind  him,  and  approached  Tegel  with 
an  easy,  confident  stride.  Everett,  with  a  queer 
little  thrill  tingling  through  his  veins,  saw  that  the 
newcomer  was  Don  Jose.    Hs  features  were  grimy 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  247 

and  travel-stained,  his  clothes  covered  with  a  fine 
powder  of  white  dust. 

**Alonzo  Murias  and  Pablo  Meller  have  set  out 
for  Los  Barrios  with  their  men,  disregarding 
orders,"   Tegel  announced  gravely. 

Don  Jose  sat  down  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

**I  know  that  already,"  he  said,  extinguishing 
the  match.  "An  agent  outside  Santa  Palma  in- 
formed me.*' 

He  paused,  surveying  his  cigarette  thoughtfully. 

**In  every  large  organization  there  are,  of  a 
necessity,  certain  weak  individuals.  It  is  far  better 
that  these  should  be  discovered  before  they  harm 
anyone  but  their  foolish  selves.  Already  the  Federal- 
ists have  detected  their  departure,  and  have  sent 
cavalry  in  pursuit.  In  their  enthusiasm  these  fellows 
made  too  much  noise.  They  will,  without  a  doubt, 
be  captured  before  morning." 

"Can't  anything  be  done  to  warn  them?"  Everett 
asked. 

"Why?"  parried  Don  Jose  calmly.  "They  acted 
without  instructions.  Let  their  blood  be  upon  their 
own  heads.  I,  myself,  have  no  further  use  for  such 
as  they." 

He  drew  his  chair  closer. 

"I  was  on  the  C amino  Real  all  day.  The  news, 
so  far,  is  good.  Our  Valientes  under  the  command 
of  Jesu  Natchez — God  bless  him  for  his  brave 
heart — attacked  Los  Barrios  simultaneously  from 
all  sides  at  four  o'clock.    By  six,  when  we  cut  the 


248  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

telegraph  wires,  we  were  in  possession  of  practi- 
cally the  whole  town,  and  the  garrison  was  about  to 
surrender.  We  had  lost  seventeen  men,  but  the 
Federalists  had  lost  many  more." 

Then  Tegel  asked  hurriedly: 

"And  the  Werner-Borzdorfs — did  you  hear  if 
they  were  a  success?" 

"Magnificent,"  Don  Jose  told  him,  " — and  a 
total  surprise  to  the  enemy.  I  think  it  will  be 
through  those  little  weapons  that  we  will  gain  our 
final  victory.  The  report  of  my  spies,  you  will 
remember,  stated  that  the  Federalists  had  but  eight 
machine  guns  in  the  whole  island,  and  those  were 
the  most  antiquated  type  of  Maxims." 

Into  the  mind  of  Everett,  who  was  listening 
attentively,  there  crept  a  curious,  uneasy  suspicion. 
Almost  unconsciously  he  allowed  himself  to  voice 
aloud  his  thoughts. 

"Werner-Borzdorfs?"  he  repeated.  "That  must 
be  a  new  make  of  machine  gun.    Where " 

With  an  altogether  astonishing  vehemence  Tegel 
snapped  at  him :  "Please  don't  interrupt.  We  are 
too  busy  to  answer  idle  questions."  And  at  the 
same  time  directed  a  covertly  frowning  glance  at 
Don  Jose,  that  Everett  felt  instinctively  was  in  the 
nature  of  a  warning.  Don  Jose,  intercepting  it, 
changed  the  conversation  with  a  clumsy  abruptness 
that  was  oddly  at  variance  with  his  usual 
imperturbability. 

"Tomorrow  morning  at  seven,"  he  said  to  Tegel, 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  249 

"you  will  give  the  arranged  signal  for  the  Santa 
Palma  attack.     Is  your  machine  ready?" 

Tegel  contented  himself  with  a  nod.  His  usually 
pallid  cheeks  suffused  to  a  deep  red  betrayed  the  sup- 
pressed anger  within  him.  Don  Jose  spoke  hur- 
riedly to  Everett. 

*'I  asked  Tegel  to  bring  you  here  tonight  because 
I  have  something  important  to  tell  you.  I  have 
fotmd  a  way  in  which  you  may,  perhaps,  make 
yourself  of  great  use  to  our  cause.  Sometime 
ago,  in  a  conversation  with  me  about  your  past 
life,  did  you  not  mention  that  you  had  been  in  the 
Radio  Service  of  the  United  States  Navy  during 
the  War?" 

'T  did,"  Everett  said,  inwardly  marvelling  at  the 
man's  memory  for  infinite  details. 

''Good.  I  thought  so.  Now,  down  at  Riva- 
davia,  the  western  seaport,  there  is  a  gunboat  which 
we  intend  to  capture.  She  will  be  of  a  certain  use 
in  patrolling  the  coast.  She  is  fitted  with  wire- 
less telegraphy,  and  we  will  need  you  to  operate  it; 
your  knowledge  of  Spanish  is  now  good  enough 
for  the  purpose." 

Tegel  started  to  interrupt,  but  Don  Jose  silenced 
him  with  a  gesture  of  his  hand. 

" — And  now,  I  think,  Mr.  Gail,  you  had  better 
get  some  sleep,  so  that  you  will  be  ready  for  the 
tasks  of  tomorrow.  Tegel  and  I  still  have  many 
details  to  discuss  which  will  be  of  little  interest  to 
you;  so  if  you  will  go  into  that  back  room,  behind 


250  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

the  door  over  there,  you  will  find  a  bed  which  may 
not  prove  too  uncomfortable  for  you.'' 

Realizing  that  these  two  wished  to  be  left  alone 
and  that  he  was  being  politely  but  firmly  dismissed, 
he  followed  the  direction  Don  Jose  had  indicated 
and  discovered  a  small,  unlighted  chamber  at  the 
rear  of  the  house.  The  narrow  cot  with  its  horse- 
hair mattress  which  he  found  there  was  none  too 
yielding  to  his  body,  but  he  was  sufficiently  weary 
to  be  able,  soon,  to  fall  asleep. 


IV 


Tegel  helped  himself  to  a  glass  of  wine  and, 
leaning  across  the  table,  spoke  in  Spanish  with  a 
certain  evident  bitterness. 

"That  boy — why  do  you  insist  upon  letting  him 
put  his  finger  in  our  affairs?  He  may  not  even  be 
trustworthy,  and  his  services  are  hardly  worth  the 
risk  they  involve.  Personally,  I  find  him  an  un- 
believable nuisance  with  his  damned,  inquisitive 
little  Yankee  mind." 

Don  Jose  sighed  wearily. 

"You  think  I  owe  you  an  explanation?  Btieno — 
I  shall  give  it  to  you.  In  the  first  place,  you  will 
recollect  that  Corcovado  had  a  long  tongue.  Dios! 
how  he  used  to  chatter!  Now — I  have  no  way  of 
knowing  just  how  much  he  told  this  boy.  They 
were  together  much  of  the  time  when  I  was  visiting 
my  agents.     It  was  only  after  his  death  that  I 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  251 

realized  he  might  have  talked  too  much  to  the 
American.  Supposing — "  he  leaned  forward, 
tapping  upon  the  surface  of  the  table  to  emphasize 
his  words,  ''supposing  this  young  Gail  has  heard — 
about  the  actual  source  of  supplies?  Because  it  is 
possible  that  he  may  know  of  such  things  I  am 
bound  to  keep  an  eye  upon  him  until  we  have 
attained  success.  But  wholly  apart  from  all  that, 
I  like  the  lad.  He  is  energetic,  and  quick  to  help 
whenever  he  can.  This  revolution  is  a  grand 
adventure  for  him ;  it  is  in  the  way  of  an  innovation 
— and  to  an  Americano  innovation  is  the  spice  of 
life." 

"We  are  not  here  to  amuse  striplings,"  Tegel 
said  harshly. 

Don  Jose  permitted  himself  an  indulgent  smile. 

*T  am  afraid  you  take  some  things  too  seriously, 
Tegel.  The  lad  can  do  no  harm,  possibly  a  great 
deal  of  good.  The  Intrepido  lying  in  Rivadavia 
harbor,  which  is  the  whole  of  the  Esperanza  navy," 
— his  lips  curled  contemptuously — "will  presently 
fall  into  our  hands.  I  have  a  crew  ready  for  her, 
since  I  think  it  will  be  wise  to  patrol  the  coast 
in  order  to  prevent  possible  outside  assistance  to  the 
Federalists  in  the  way  of  foreign  supplies.  Al- 
though this  crew  is  now  assembled,  waiting  for 
orders,  I  have  been  unable  to  find  amongst  my  fol- 
lowers a  single  man  with  any  knowledge  of  the 
wireless  telegraph.  — That  is  where  Gail  will  be 
invaluable." 


252.  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

"And  you  would  trust  him?"  Tegel  was  hotly 
incredulous.  ''Don't  forget  that  if  any  interference 
comes  it  will  be  from  his  cursed  country,  and  no 
other/' 

Don  Jose  pondered  before  replying. 

**I  think  that  is  an  impossibility.  Those  in 
power  at  Washington  scarcely  realize  the  existence 
of  Esperanza.  Moreover,  there  has  been  no  one 
to  inform  them  concerning  our  national  affairs 
since  they  abolished  their  consulate  here  when 
foreign  trade  collapsed  some  fifteen  years  ago.  As 
for  the  boy,  if  he  does  know — certain  things,  he  is 
too  ingenuous  to  cause  trouble;  he  is  wrapped  up 
in  the  pleasure  of  his  own  experiences,  one  might 
say." 

A  sneer  twisted  Tegel' s  lips. 

"He  has,  perhaps,  other  more  subtle  interests  in 
Esperanza  than  the  Revolution.  There  is  Seiiora 
Valdez,  for  instance " 

Don  Jose  sprang  to  his  feet,  fists  clenched,  the 
blood  surging  darkly  to  his  face.  He  looked  at 
Tegel,  for  a  fleeting  instant,  as  if  he  would  like  to 
kill  him. 

"As  long  as  you  live  never  mention  such  a 
thing  again."  His  eyes  presently  lost  their  hard- 
ness; anger  subsided.  "Sefiora  Bianca  was  treated 
illy  by  a  harsh  world,  but  it  is  not  the  part  of  a 
caballero  to  discuss  her  fair  name." 

A  flush  of  shame  crept  into  Tegel's  cheeks  at  the 
reprimand;  he  toyed  nervously  with  his  wine  glass, 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  253 

eyes  cast  to  the  ground.     Don  Jose  turned  gently 
to  the  discussion  of  other  matters. 

"And  now,  concerning  these  ammunition  mani- 
fests I  have  here  a  letter  from  Walbeck,  head  of  the 
syndicate.  ..." 


Outside,  the  pallid  moon  travelling  higher  in  the 
sky  cast  quivering  light  upon  the  dilapidated  walls 
of  the  house.  Inland  from  Santa  Palma  came  the 
booming  of  cathedral  bells  announcing  the  hour  of 
two,  the  mellow  sound  rolling  with  infinite  slowness 
over  the  waters  of  the  harbor,  reverberating  against 
the  rock-strewn  sheerness  of  the  cliffs.  A  figure, 
crouching  at  one  of  the  closely  shuttered  windows 
of  the  house,  listening  intently  to  the  hum  of  voices 
from  within,  shifted  its  position  and  sought  the 
sanctuary  of  deeper  shadows  as  the  moonbeams 
crept  nearer  along  the  wall. 

An  hour  passed.  The  solitary  light  that  gleamed 
through  the  shutter  cracks  was  suddenly  extin- 
guished; the  drowsy  hum  of  voices  ceased. 

Elbert  Wing  straightened  up  from  his  crouching 
position;  stretched  his  weary  limbs,  and  stole  away 
swiftly  in  the  direction  of  Santa  Palma.  In  the 
exultation  of  the  discovery  ^hich  he  had  made  he 
felt  like  crying  aloud. 


CHAPTER  V 


A  SPASMODIC,  distant  crackling  of  rifles,  borne 
lazily  into  the  bedroom  upon  the  breeze  that  floated 
through  the  tiny  window,  penetrated  the  mind  of 
Elbert  Wing  and  dispelled  a  maze  of  evanescent 
dreams.  He  tumbled  hurriedly  out  of  bed,  his  faded 
blue  eyes  alight — for  the  first  time  since  many  a 
month — with  the  shining  eagerness  of  one  who 
has  worthy  deeds  to  accomplish.  The  ponderous 
deliberation  of  advancing  years  seemed  to  have 
deserted  him;  his  movements,  as  he  dressed  im- 
patiently, were  those  of  a  young  and  alert  man. 

He  had  scarcely  completed  his  dressing,  and  the 
meticulous  brushing  of  the  dozen  silvery  hairs  that 
remained  upon  his  shining  head,  when  he  became 
sharply  aware  of  a  faint  vibration  in  the  atmos- 
phere, a  curiously  insistent  humming  that  increased 
in  volume  as  he  listened,  filled  the  very  room  with 
its  throbbing  crescendo.  He  hurried  to  the  win- 
dow. Santa  Palma  lay  before  him,  a  dormant, 
blazing  mass  of  color  in  the  early  morning  sun- 
shine. High  above  the  flat  tiled  roofs  of  the  upper 
town    he    discerned    a    white- winged    thing    that 

254 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  255 

wheeled  and  circled  leisurely  in  the  sky.  There 
was,  he  thought,  a  certain  insolent  superiority  about 
its  unhampered  progress,  away  up  there  beyond  the 
reach  of  crawling,  earth-bound  humanity.  He 
caught,  presently,  a  glimpse  of  its  propeller  flash- 
ing a  metallic  silvery  cascade  as  it  veered  toward 
the  sun's  face. 

Something  dropped  from  the  aeroplane,  spread 
through  the  sky  in  a  cone-shaped  shower  formed  of 
a  myriad  tiny  particles.  The  specks  grew  larger  as 
he  watched,  drifted  in  all  directions  on  the  wings  of 
the  morning  breeze;  he  saw  that  they  were  pieces 
of  paper — leaflets,  a  vivid  green  in  color.  A 
dozen  of  them  descended  in  an  aimless,  zigzagging 
flutter  past  his  window;  eventually  alighted  upon 
the  asphalt  surface  of  the  Plaza  below.  People — 
a  rapidly  increasing  throng  of  men,  women  and 
children — were  hurrying  from  their  houses  to  gape 
open-mouthed  at  the  droning  thing  in  the  sky 
above  them. 

A  man  ran  to  pick  up  one  of  the  colored  slips 
of  paper,  and  was  instantly  surrounded  by  a  clamor- 
ing, eager  mob.  The  sound  of  voices,  shrill  but 
indistinct,  came  drifting  up  to  Wing's  ears.  He 
distinguished  one  word,  ''Valientes"  uttered  again 
and  again. 

The  aeroplane,  by  now  some  six  thousand  feet 
above  the  town,  turned  suddenly  southward,  crossed 
over  the  fringe  of  ceiba  trees  that  topped  the  heights 
of  Santo  Cerro,  and  faded  away  in  the  blueness  of 


256  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

the  sky.  The  droning  note  of  its  engine  hung  list- 
lessly in  the  morning  air  for  a  while,  grew  gradu- 
ally fainter,  and  died  away. 

Wing  hurried  downstairs,  and  in  the  Bodega 
found  Tomas  de  Ruy,  his  landlord,  perusing  one 
of  the  green  leaflets  with  a  puzzled  frown.  The 
little  Esperanzan  appeared  grave — graver  than  Wing 
had  ever  remembered  seeing  him. 

He  greeted  Wing  with  a  perfunctory  biienos  dias 
and  handed  him  the  paper. 

''Read  that,  Seiior,"  he  said.  *'You  will  find  it 
interesting." 

Wing  read  the  leaflet  slowly,  and  with  consider- 
able difliiculty.  The  wording  was  in  Spanish,  badly 
printed,  the  ink  smeared  as  if  still  wet  from  the 
printing  press. 

Citizens  of  Santa  Palma! 

I,  Don  Jose  Rodriguez,  Citizen  and  Planter  of  Santa 
Palma,  direct  descendant  of  our  country's  most  illustri- 
ous family,  have  viewed  with  ever-growing  concern  the 
burdens  thrust  upon  our  fair  republic  by  an  incompetent 
and  unscrupulous  government  that  will  not  relinquish 
its  power  until  forced  out  by  passage  of  arms.  Unable 
to  bear  any  longer  the  intolerable  sins  of  taxation,  cor- 
ruption and  indifference  to  public  welfare  perpetrated 
by  these  men,  I  have  decided  to  come  to  your  rescue. 
Your  cause  shall  be  my  cause.  My  valiant  followers, 
of  whom  there  are  over  twenty  thousand  pledged  unto 
death,  have  sworn  to  support  me  in  a  glorious  cam- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  257 

paign  against  the  existing  tyranny  and  oppression — 
(Here  followed  a  long  list  of  specific  grievances  against 
the  Pinar  government;  unjustifiable  taxes;  militaristic 
despotism;  neglect  of  the  national  industries  of  cofifee^ 
tobacco  and  sugar;  failure  to  provide  roads,  lighting, 
sewerage,  etc.)  The  climax  to  our  misfortunes  came 
when  a  loyal  and  good  citizen  was  foully  murdered  in 
the  Teatro  Municipal  by  a  uniformed  officer  simply 
because  he  exercised  his  inherent  right  of  free  speech 
and  ventured  to  criticize  the  shortcomings  of  our 
present  administration. 

Citizens!  Friends!  Patriots!  I  call  upon  you  all. 
With  God's  aid  we  will  win  this  battle.  We  will  emerge 
triumphant  to  see  Esperanza  a  greater,  nobler  and  more 
prosperous  nation  than  she  has  ever  been  in  all  her 
history.  To  this  I  have  pledged  heart,  soul,  and  body, 
and  twenty  thousand  others  with  me. 

Jose  Rodriguez 
President  of  the  Liherationists  of  Esperansa. 


"Well,"  said  Wing,  " — and  how  do  you  feel 
about  this?     You're  a  typical  citizen." 

The  little  man  replied: 

'T  am  a  man  of  business,  Senor.  Such  an 
affair  will  temporarily  ruin  my  trade,  yet  I  be- 
lieve we  will  all  benefit  in  the  end.  This  Rodriguez, 
you  know,  is  a  caballero.  By  his  suave  speech  he 
has  managed  to  fire  the  imaginations  of  a  great 
many  young  men — not  as  many  as  he  says,  perhaps, 
but  still  a  considerable  number.     My  younger  son 


258  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Oton,  for  instance — he  left  here  with  a  company 
of  Valientes  for  Los  Barrios  last  night.  It  is  for 
the  young  men  to  constitute  themselves  the  saviors 
of  their  country;  v^t  old  and  feeble  ones  can  only 
watch — and  pray." 


II 


Within  an  hour  Federalist  troops  came  pouring 
into  the  streets  to  take  up  patrol  duty.  De  Ruy,  in 
a  spirit  of  caution,  drew  dov^^n  the  heavy  iron 
shutters  of  the  Bodega;  other  establishments  about 
the  Plaza  did  likewise.  The  majority  of  the  in- 
habitants clung  to  the  shelter  of  their  houses,  peer- 
ing now  and  then,  awe-struck,  from  their  jalousied 
windows.  The  morning  sun  blazed  down  upon 
streets  that  were  deserted  but  for  groups  of  soldiers 
in  red  and  green  uniforms  who  stood,  heavily 
armed,  at  every  corner,  the  while  exchanging 
badinage  as  if  the  whole  affair  was  to  be  but  some 
short-lived  farce.  Don  Jose's  power  had  not  yet 
been  demonstrated.  The  aeroplane,  indeed,  caused 
a  certain  amount  of  excitement,  but  was  generally 
regarded  as  the  clever  advertisement  of  a  mounte- 
bank seeking  notoriety. 

The  morning  passed  without  disturbance.  And 
then,  suddenly,  at  noon  three  hooded  military 
wagons  came  rattling  down  the  hillside  into  the 
Plaza;  they  drew  up  before  the  Intendencia.  Jal- 
ousies cluttered  open,  and  a  hundred  curious  heads 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  259 

peered  down  into  the  Plaza.  Elbert  Wing,  gazing 
out  of  his  bedroom  window,  saw  the  drivers 
descend  from  their  insecure  seats,  and  a  mass  of 
soldiers  crowding  about  the  wagons.  He  leaned 
forward,  startled,  as  a  narrow,  inanimate  burden 
shrouded  in  sackcloth  was  lifted  from  beneath  the 
hood  of  the  first  wagon;  another  followed;  and  yet 
another.  ...  At  that  moment  he  saw,  too,  De 
Ruy,  short-legged  and  awkward,  hurrying  ludi- 
crously across  the  Plaza  toward  the  wagons;  saw 
him  merge  into  the  blurred  mass  of  red  and  green 
uniforms. 

Five  minutes  later  De  Ruy  returned,  with  odd 
mechanical  steps,  along  the  path  beneath  the 
tamarind  trees.  He  disappeared  beneath  the  arcade. 
Downstairs  the  glass  door  of  the  Bodega  was 
slammed  to  with  a  tinkling  crash ;  and  there  reached 
Wing,  at  the  same  moment,  the  heartrending  sound 
of  a  man  sobbing. 

Across  the  Plaza  the  last  of  the  twenty-nine 
bodies  was  being  carried  by  soldiers  into  the  Inten- 
dencia.  The  drivers  clambered  up  to  their  perches, 
cracked  their  whips,  and  the  trio  of  wagons  rattled 
away. 

And  so  war  came  to  Santa  Palma. 

Ill 

The  sun,  with  a  seemingly  wilful  malignity,  had 
the  appearance  of  pausing  inert  in  the  molten  sky 


26o  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

before  dropping  beneath  the  horizon.  It  shone 
obliquely,  with  an  unendurable  heat  upon  a  sea  that 
was  like  some  sheet  of  hammered  gold. 

Elbert  Wing,  coatless  and  saturated,  shifted  his 
seat  in  the  stern  of  the  motorboat  so  that  his  broad 
back  was  turned  to  the  burning  west.  In  his  new 
position  he  could  see  astern,  to  the  south,  where  the 
coastline  of  Santa  Palma  was  still  faintly  visible, 
a  misty,  purple  streak  upon  the  colorless 
horizon. 

A  lean  native,  untidily  clad  in  oil-smeared  drill 
trousers  and  a  cotton  singlet,  bent  over  the  throb- 
bing motor;  tightened  a  bolt  with  a  rusty  wrench. 
His  pit-marked,  yellow  face  was  placid, 
expressionless. 

Wing  took  out  his  watch  and  regarded  it  with 
a  show  of  impatience. 

**I  thought  you  could  do  better  than  this,'*  he 
complained  in  Spanish,  glancing  astern  at  the  linger- 
ing coastline. 

"The  Senor  knows  the  speed  of  my  boat,''  the 
native  answered  in  a  monotonous  voice.  'T  have 
already  told  him  that  she  will  make  no  greater  speed, 
and  no  less.  The  Senor  will  be  at  his  destination 
an  hour  after  midnight.  So  much  have  I  assured 
him,  and  I  am  a  man  of  my  word.'* 

Wing  nodded,  temporarily  appeased.  He  stooped 
over,  and  from  the  battered  suitcase  lying  at  his 
feet  extracted  a  paper-covered  notebook  and  pencil. 
He  commenced  to  write  in  a  minute,  concise  hand 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  261 

— at  first  slowly;  then  with  increasing  speed,  until 
his  pencil  was  travelling  to  and  fro  across  the  paper 
with  a  kind  of  machine-like  regularity. 

The  boatman  left  his  engine,  shuffled  forward 
and  negligently  grasped  the  wheel  of  his  craft.  He 
spat  over  the  gunwale.  Once  only  did  he  glance 
back  at  his  passenger,  who  was  writing  now  with 
feverish  speed. 

''Loco''  he  muttered,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
Still,  if  the  mad  foreigner  chose  to  pay  the  price, 
he,  Felipe  Urbano,  w^as  not  the  man  to  refuse  good 
money.  He  speculated  lazily  as  to  why  the 
Americano  was  so  anxious  to  get  to  the  islands  in 
the  North;  one  place,  he  considered,  personally, 
was  as  good  as  another.  .  .  .  Presently,  finding 
the  problem  beyond  his  limited  capacities  of 
reasoning,  he  gave  it  up;  resigned  himself  to  a 
complacent  survey  of  the  water  ahead  of  him — 
this,  at  least,  required  only  an  agreeable  minimum 
of  mental  effort. 

The  sun  slipped  below  the  horizon.  Night  came 
on  with  startling  swiftness.  The  darkening  sky 
was  of  a  sudden  powdered  with  an  infinity  of  stars. 
Wing  put  away  his  notebook  and  pencil,  when  from 
the  south  there  came  rolling  over  the  water  the 
faintest  perceptible  sound,  as  of  far  distant  thun- 
der, that  died  reluctantly  upon  the  breathless 
evening  air. 

He  glanced  up  hurriedly ;  jerked  his  thumb  astern. 

*'Fools,"  he  said,  succinctly. 


262  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

The  harquero  nodded  as  he  cupped  his  hands  to 
light  a  tiny  cigar.  For  the  first  time  during  the 
voyage  he  was  conscious  of  a  glimmer  of  respect 
for  his  passenger. 


CHAPTER  VI 


A  TOWN,  Don  Jose  was  wont  to  remark,  may 
betray  its  own  soul  as  may  a  man.  Rivadavia,  on 
the  western  coast,  had  neither  the  fiery  pride  and 
patriotism  of  Santa  Palma,  the  Esperanzan  capital, 
nor  the  southern  lethargy  of  Los  Barrios.  Favored 
with  an  extremely  fertile  soil  in  the  surrounding 
districts  Rivadavia  was  prosperous;  it  was  also 
mercenary.  Coffee  plantations,  emerald  green,  de- 
scended from  the  uplands  to  the  very  walls  of  the 
town;  the  concrete  jetties  of  a  neat  yet  inartistc 
harbor  bespoke  of  civic  progress  rather  than  senti- 
ment. The  demolition  of  a  five-hundred-year-old 
crumbUng  cathedral  to  make  room  for  a  stucco 
chamber  of  commerce  betrayed,  illuminatingly,  that 
Rivadavia  was  material,  that  the  timeworn  traditions 
so  beloved  by  most  Esperanzans  were  unrespected  by 
its  alert  inhabitants. 

The  Rivadavians  received  the  news  of  the  revo- 
lution's outbreak  with  more  or  less  mingled  feelings, 
in  which  suspicion  predominated.  True,  they  had 
suffered  like  other  towns  from  the  mulcting  taxation 

263 


264  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

that  went  to  fill  the  pockets  of  the  Pinar  clique,  but 
they  had  suffered  less  than  their  neighbors.  There 
were  coffee  growers  in  the  Pinar  administration  so 
that,  on  the  whole,  Rivadavia  was  content  to  let 
well  enough  alone — to  prosper,  in  other  words,  at 
the  expense  of  the  rest  of  the  republic.  Moreover, 
who  could  tell  what  this  Rodriguez,  a  cahallero  of 
the  old  school,  might  do  should  he  attain  power? 
Rivadavia  had  a  jealous  contempt  for  all  Santa 
Palmans,  caballeros  in  particular ;  Rivadavia  did  not 
believe  in  noblesse;  it  believed  in  dollars. 

Don  Jose,  it  turned  out,  had  barely  five  hundred 
sworn  supporters  in  Rivadavia.  On  the  morning  of 
the  third  day  of  the  revolution,  hearing  of  the  suc- 
cess of  their  fellow  Valientes,  the  five  hundred 
gathered  en  masse  and  sallied  forth  bravely  enough 
to  attack  the  Rivadavia  Intendencia  and  the  garri- 
son. They  were  eager  and  courageous,  but  their 
numerical  strength  was  insufficient  to  overcome  the 
three  hundred  well-trained,  well-equipped  Federalist 
troops  that  opposed  them.  The  garrison  success- 
fully withstood  their  clumsy  attack,  and  the  soldiers, 
swarming  out  into  the  streets  with  bayoneted  rifles, 
drove  the  Valientes  out  of  the  town  and  up  into  the 
plantations  of  the  hill  district.  By  noon  the  vic- 
torious Federalists  were  able  to  return  to  town, 
having  chased  the  rebels  some  ten  kilometers  inland 
where  they  lurked,  a  shattered,  disorganized  remnant 
of  what  they  had  been  at  daybreak. 

At  precisely  one  o'clock  that  afternoon  His  Honor 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  265 

Mario  Lopez  y  Barra,  Alcalde  of  Rivadavia,  who 
had  witnessed  the  beginning  of  the  pursuit  from  the 
eminent  safety  of  the  Alcaldia's  top  floor  windows, 
received  the  Commandante  of  the  FederaHst  troops 
in  his  private  office  and  congratulated  him. 

"You  will  probably  be  awarded  the  Cross  of  Es- 
peranza  for  this,"  he  remarked  graciously.  "How 
many  of  these  cursed  rebels  have  been  killed — all  I 
hope?" 

The  Commandante  stroked  his  superbly  waxed 
mustache  thoughtfully.  He  was  a  short,  bellicose 
little  man  who  was  forced  to  assume  a  constant  air 
of  ferocity  to  compensate  for  his  lack  of  stature. 
His  field  uniform  of  gray-green  was  adorned  with 
a  row  of  medals,  his  Sam  Browne  belt  polished  to 
a  high  lustre. 

"They  lost  eighteen,"  he  announced.  "We  suf- 
fered five  casualties  only.  I  do  not  think  they  will 
dare  to  enter  the  town  again,  but  I  have  stationed 
outposts  to  watch  for  them.  Tell  me  something. 
Who  is  this  upstart  Rodriguez  under  whose  orders 
the  rebels  apparently  acted?" 

The  Alcalde  frowned  heavily  as  he  offered  the 
officer  a  cigar. 

"I  used  to  know  him  of  old  in  Santa  Palma.  A 
rather  fine  caballero  in  his  way,  and  possessed  of  a 
brilliant  mind.  He  is  a  direct  descendant  of  the 
Rodriguez  governors  who  ruled  our  country  during 
the  Spanish  regime.  And  here  a  word  of  caution, 
Commandante.     This   man   will   not  give   up  his 


266  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

•»_ 
efforts  easily;  you  may  rest  assured  that  the  absurd 
little  affair  of  this  morning  was  but  a  preliminary. 
When  he  turns  his  personal  attention  to  Rivadavia 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he  will  have  other  tricks 
up  his  sleeve.  He  is  an  infernal  conjuror,  who  jug- 
gles with  human  lives." 

The  Commandante,  puffing  at  his  cigar,  seemed 
unconvinced ;  he  turned  to  leave  with  a  vainglorious 
jingling  of  spurs  and  scabbard. 

**My  brave  soldiers  will  defend  the  town,"  he  pro- 
claimed.    "Have  no  fear,  Excellency." 

As  he  started  to  descend  the  steps  of  the  Alcaldia 
a  soldier,  perspiring  and  dusty,  dismounted  from  a 
bicycle  and  came  running  up  to  him.  He  saluted 
and  handed  the  Commandante  a  yellow  slip  of  paper. 

"Commandante.  This  telegram  was  received  at 
the  garrison  ten  minutes  ago." 

The  officer  read  the  telegram. 

Rivadavia  will  he  attacked  by  a  special  Liberationist 
force  at  two  o'clock.     The  signal  for  your  surrender 
will  be  a  white  flag  upon  the  garrison.    Salutations. 
Rodriguez.    President  of  the  Liberationists. 


''Dies!'*  cried  the  Commandante,  and  his  face 
turned  a  brick  red.  "Surrender,  indeed  I  The  man 
must  be  a  maniac." 

Nevertheless,  as  he  hurried  toward  the  garrison 
he  was  conscious  of  a  growing  uneasiness.     The 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  267 

words  of  the  Alcalde  came  back  to  him,  unpleas- 
antly: "...  a  conjuror  who  juggles  with  human 
lives." 

It  was  almost  a  quarter  before  two  o'clock  when 
he  entered  the  garrison  gates  and  stiffly  acknowl- 
edged the  rifle  salute  of  the  sentry  on  duty.  In  the 
barracks  room  he  unburdened  himself  of  his  pent- 
up  rage  by  roundly  cursing  an  orderly  who  had 
failed,  it  appeared,  to  give  the  necessary  polish  to 
his  field  boots  that  morning.  When  the  orderly  had 
gone  he  perused  the  telegram  again — and  became 
suddenly  paler.  The  message  was  headed  from  the 
Federal  Post  Office  at  Los  Barrios;  undeniable  evi- 
dence that  the  town  was  completely  in  the  hands  of 
the  rebel  forces. 

He  tore  up  the  telegram;  glanced  at  his  watch. 
It  lacked  but  five  minutes,  now,  of  two. 

Through  the  open  windows  of  the  barracks  there 
became  audible  a  distant,  vibrating  hum.  The  sound 
grew  louder  as  he  listened.  A  sergeant  stumbled 
into  the  room  from  the  sun-baked  parade  ground; 
saluted. 

"Commandante.  An  aeroplane  has  been  sighted 
above  the  town." 

The  Commandante  lighted  a  pale,  thin  cigar; 
tossed  the  match  casually  out  of  the  window. 

"So  that  is  the  plan  of  Rodriguez,"  he  remarked. 
"He  thinks  to  intimidate  us.  This  pretty  farce  must 
have  cost  him  something." 

The  sergeant  was  ill  at  ease ;  he  glanced  nervously 


268  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

out  of  the  window  toward  the  droning  speck  that 
was  now  visible  in  the  sky. 

"Any  orders,  Commandante  ?" 

"None.    Are  you  frightened,  miserable  one?** 

The  sergeant  wiped  his  sweating  brow  with  the 
back  of  his  hand.  He  strolled  uncertainly  over  to 
the  gun  rack,  unlocked  it,  and  took  out  his  rifle ;  he 
inspected  the  bolt.  It  was  painfully  obvious  that  he 
had  not,  under  the  circumstances,  the  remotest  idea 
what  to  do. 

The  bells  in  the  tower  of  the  Alcaldia  boomed 
two.  Scarcely  had  the  sound  died  away  on  the  list- 
less air,  when  came  a  shattering  roar  that  shook  the 
barracks  to  its  very  foundations.  The  Comman- 
dante  leaned  out  of  the  window;  gazed,  incredu- 
lously, toward  the  town.  A  thin  column  of  smoke 
was  curling  above  the  jumble  of  houses  into  the 
pallid  blueness  of  the  sky. 

Came  another  roar,  more  intensified  than  the  first ; 
and  then  another.  The  barracks  trembled;  a  win- 
dow tinkled  to  a  myriad  fragments  upon  the  floor. 
The  air  was  momentarily  darkened  with  an  acrid 
cloud  of  smoke.  Fountains  of  earth  spouted  wildly 
upward  from  the  parade  ground.  Two  hundred 
hysterical  little  men  in  red  and  green  uniforms  came 
swarming  into  the  barracks  room,  wild-eyed, 
frenzied  with  fear. 

"We  demand  that  you  surrender,  Commandante," 
they  clamored.  "We  are  powerless  to  defend  our- 
selves against  an  aerial  attack.'* 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  269 

The  Commandante  surveyed  them  with  folded 
arms. 

"Cowards,  all  of  you.    I  will  never  surrender." 

They  crowded  about  him  uttering  hoarse,  threat- 
ening cries.  In  their  terror  at  the  thing  in  the  sky 
above  them  they  had  temporarily  lost  all  fear  of  this 
one  little  man  who  had  ruled  their  destinies  in  the 
past,  who  had  hitherto  held  them  in  cringing  sub- 
servience. He  called  them  vainly  to  order ;  told  them 
to  line  up  outside  the  barracks  that  they  might  form 
a  patrol  to  guard  the  streets  of  the  town;  but  they 
paid  no  heed  whatever  to  him.  Then,  in  the  realiza- 
tion that  his  power  over  them  had  vanished,  a  look 
of  pitiful  amazement  came  to  his  face. 

''Did  you  hear  my  orders?"  he  raged  impotently. 

At  that  moment  one  of  them,  with  crafty,  sunken 
eyes,  who  was  standing  behind  him,  deliberately 
whipped  out  a  revolver  from  its  holster  and  fired. 
The  bullet  passed  through  the  Commandante's  back: 
he  flung  up  his  arms  and  fell,  lolling  grotesquely 
upon  the  barracks  floor.  The  mob  stood  motionless 
for  an  awestruck  moment,  then  stampeded  out  to 
the  parade  ground. 

The  Commandante,  with  infinite  difficulty,  raised 
himself  upon  one  elbow.  Through  the  open  window 
he  saw  a  white  flag  being  hoisted,  fluttering,  to  the 
masthead  at  the  garrison  gate. 

Blood  was  trickling  down  the  tunic  of  his  uni- 
form. 

"Swine,"  he  said,  loudly;  and  died. 


270  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

II 

The  inhabitants  of  Rivadavia,  Don  Jose  realized, 
knew  indeed  upon  which  side  their  bread  was  but- 
tered. When  his  motor,  with  the  azure  Liberation- 
ist  flag  flying  at  the  radiator,  trundled  into  the  town 
at  sunset  they  lined  the  streets,  sleek  and  suave  and 
smiling,  as  if  it  had  never  entered  their  heads  to 
offer  any  resistance  to  his  cause.  Don  Jose  himself, 
white-flannelled,  the  inevitable  flower  at  his  lapel,  ac- 
knowledged their  perfunctory  cheers  with  sober  in- 
clinations of  his  head.  About  his  mobile  lips  there 
played  the  glimmer  of  an  ironical  smile.  He  knew 
these  people  for  what  they  were  worth.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  Tegel  and  his  aeroplane,  well — ^things  might 
have  been  different. 

He  directed  Everett,  who  was  at  the  wheel,  to 
drive  to  the  garrison.  The  motor  slid  on,  noiselessly, 
between  two  lines  of  fawning,  gaping  humanity. 

At  the  garrison  a  delegation  of  soldiers,  headed 
by  a  dishevelled  lieutenant,  met  him.  They  con- 
ducted him  to  the  barracks,  crowding  eagerly  about 
him,  a  sweating,  evil-smelling  horde,  and  showed 
him  the  pitiful  remains  of  the  Commandante  lying 
upon  a  cot,  uncovered. 

"He  resisted  our  will,"  the  spokesman  of  the  sol- 
diers explained.  "We  knew  that  you,  Don  Jose, 
were  our  savior.  But  he,  thick-headed  mule,  re- 
fused to  give  the  order  to  surrender — so  that  we  had 
to  take  matters  in  our  own  hands." 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  271 

Then  Don  Jose,  to  their  amazement,  bowed  his 
head  and  kneh  for  a  moment  before  the  pathetic, 
bloodstained  figure.  As  he  rose  and  turned  to  face 
the  soldiers  there  was,  for  the  briefest  instant,  un- 
diluted hatred  for  them  written  on  his  face — but  it 
passed  swiftly,  supplanted  by  his  habitual  mask  of 
equanimity.  He  did  not,  however,  hold  further  con- 
versation with  them. 

As  the  car  purred  away  from  the  garrison  and 
turned  toward  the  harbor  he  leaned  forward  and 
spoke  to  Everett.    His  voice  was  bitter. 

**The  Commandante,"  he  said,  ''enemy  or  not,  was 
a  man  one  can  admire.  He  did  his  duty,  yet  those 
wretched  cowards  murdered  him.  By  the  Holy 
God,  I  loathe  scum  like  that!" 

At  the  moment  Everett  sensed  something  of  the 
man's  innate  virtue. 

Ill 

The  gunboat  Intrepido  which  formed  the  entire 
naval  force  of  Esperanza  was  the  chief  booty  of  the 
Liberationists  on  the  capture  of  Rivadavia.  The 
crew  surrendered  with  a  sullen  reluctance,  and  were 
replaced  within  twenty-four  hours  by  a  motley 
gathering  of  men  scraped  together  by  Don  Jose's 
agents.  The  new  crew  was  composed,  principally, 
of  young  Valientes  who  had  previously  spent  their 
three  years  of  compulsory  service  in  the  naval  school 
— an  alternative  from  the  army  offered  by  the  gov- 
ernment to  satisfy  the  fishing  folk  of  the  northern 


2^2  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

coast.  These  young  men,  to  whom  were  added  several 
negroes  to  serve  as  stokers,  were  captained  by 
one  Sebastien  Mores,  a  veteran  of  the  Spanish  Navy 
in  the  days  when  Esperanza  had  been  a  colony. 
Lured  by  promises  of  high  pay,  and  a  certain  love  of 
notoriety.  Mores  had  been  persuaded  by  Don  Jose 
to  leave  temporarily  the  comfortable  home  he  had 
established  in  Santa  Palma,  and  to  take  command  of 
the  gunboat  upon  its  capture.  Don  Jose  saw  that 
he  was  properly  uniformed,  gave  him  the  empty  title 
of  Admiral  of  the  Fleet,  and  rechristened  the  vessel 
the  Presidente  Rodriguez — one  of  those  inexplicable 
little  acts  of  childish  vanity  that  caused  Everett  to 
laugh  when  he  heard  of  it  and  wonder  how  a  man 
possessing  undeniable  signs  of  greatness  could  de- 
scend to  such  trivialities;  the  Esperanzan  character 
remained,  as  ever,  a  constant  enigma  to  him. 

It  was  Don  Jose's  desire  that  the  gunboat  should 
patrol  the  coast  of  the  island  until  the  revolution  was 
successfully  completed.  There  was  still  some  trouble 
at  Santa  Palma ;  the  Valientes  were  being  stubbornly 
held  up  at  the  outskirts,  unable  to  penetrate  the 
town  itself;  they  were  waiting  for  reinforcements 
from  Rivadavia  and  Los  Barrios.  Meanwhile,  he 
told  Mores  in  an  interview  at  Rivadavia,  he  dreaded 
interference  from  outside  shipping — a  possible 
source  of  supply  for  the  Federalists.  All  foreign 
vessels,  he  ordered,  were  to  be  held  up  by  the  gun- 
boat and  searched  if  they  came  within  the  three-mile 
limit  of  the  republic. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  273 

"The  crew  is  satisfactory  enough,"  Mores  re- 
marked, after  making  his  report  to  Don  Jose  on  the 
last  night  before  sailing,  "and  the  vessel  is  in  fairly 
good  order.  There  is  a  wireless  apparatus  on  board, 
too,  which  might  prove  useful  to  question  suspicious 
craft — if  I  but  had  a  man  who  knew  how  to  operate 
it." 

"I  have  your  man,"  Don  Jose  assured  him.  "He 
will  be  aboard  when  you  are  ready  to  sail.  He  is  a 
young  American  by  the  name  of  Gail.  He  will 
operate  the  radio  for  a  week  or  two,  meanwhile  find- 
ing time  to  instruct  young  Luis  Fernandez,  the  Los 
Barrios  telegrapher,  whom  I  am  also  sending  aboard. 
Gail's  Spanish  is  mediocre,  but  you  will  find  him  a 
willing  assistant." 

Sebastien  Mores,  who  was  of  a  less  suspicious 
turn  of  mind  than  most  of  his  associates,  agreed  to 
this  plan  cheerfully. 

The  President e  Rodriguez  put  out  to  sea  in  the 
hazy  red  light  of  a  lingering  sunset  the  following 
afternoon — the  sixth  day  of  the  revolution,  and 
three  days  after  the  capture  of  Rivadavia.  She 
headed  southward,  bound  for  Los  Barrios,  her  blunt 
prow  cutting  leisurely  through  the  limpid  water,  her 
single  throbbing  propeller  tracing  a  frothy  wake 
at  her  stern.  The  wheezing,  clanking  engines  amid- 
ships churned  out  a  bare  nine  knots,  and  in  her  pain- 
ful progress  the  very  plates  of  her  hull  groaned 
despairingly,  as  if  threatening  to  disintegrate  at  any 
moment.    Almirante  Mores,  resplendent  in  a  white 


274  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

and  gold  uniform,  paced  the  canvas-covered  bridge 
as  she  swung  into  the  gathering  dusk. 

Everett,  standing  astern,  watched  the  emerald 
sweep  of  the  coastline  until  it  had  dissolved  in  misty 
purple  obscurity;  then  turned  and  walked  forward 
to  the  wireless  cabin.  He  thrust  open  the  door  and 
paused  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold,  surveying 
the  apparatus  disdainfully.  It  was  a  two-kilowatt 
affair  of  an  ancient  pattern  with  a  range,  he  sur- 
mised, of  perhaps  a  hundred  miles  by  day  and  three 
hundred  by  night.  He  sat  down,  made  a  perfunc- 
tory examination  of  the  generator,  adjusted  the  rheo- 
stats, and  put  the  receiver  to  his  ears.  A  faint,  in- 
distinct buzzing  informed  him  that  FKQ  was  calling 
BZQ,  but  failing  to  be  interested  in  what  Martinique 
had  to  say  to  Kingston,  Jamaica,  he  lighted  a  cigar- 
ette and  ignored  the  prolonged,  distant  stuttering. 
Life  in  the  Esperanzan  Navy,  he  concluded,  might 
prove  to  be  pretty  dull,  after  all.  He  prepared  re- 
luctantly for  his  vigil. 

At  six  bells  a  timid  knock  upon  the  door  an- 
nounced the  arrival  of  his  pupil.  Fernandez,  a  slim 
brown-skinned  boy,  proved  unexpectedly  intelligent 
as  he  set  to  work  to  teach  him  the  International 
Code.  Night  came  on,  presently,  and  Everett  lighted 
the  solitary  oil  lamp  in  a  niche  above  the  porthole 
while  his  pupil  pored  over  a  chart  of  dots  and  dashes. 

It  was  after  eleven  when  he  decided  to  turn  in. 
The  fo'castle  cubby-hole  which  had  been  allotted  to 
him  he  found  indescribably  filthy  and  damp;  he  pro- 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  275 

cured  a  mattress,  instead,  and  dragged  it  to  a  clear 
space  upon  the  foredeck.  Lying  down,  and  gazing 
through  half -closed  eyes  at  the  illimitable  starlit 
vault  of  the  heavens,  something  of  the  serene  peace- 
fulness  of  the  moment  gradually  pervaded  his  being, 
wafted  him  into  a  dreamless  slumber. 

IV 

He  awoke  to  find  the  gunboat  riding  at  anchor  in 
a  palmetto- fringed  inlet,  torrid  in  the  morning  heat. 
Inland  he  could  see  a  range  of  blue  hills  rising 
sheerly  into  the  vivid  sky  beyond  the  tobacco  planta- 
tions that  sloped  down  to  the  shore.  No  signs  of 
humanity  were  visible,  save  a  primitive  thatched 
drying  house  that  had  fallen  into  crumbling  decay. 
Above  him,  on  the  flying  bridge,  he  heard  voices — 
Mores  engaged  in  earnest  conversation  with  a  heav- 
ily-bearded peasant  who  had  climbed  aboard  from  a 
dory  that  was  bumping  disconsolately  against  the 
gunboat's  hull. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  peasant  left;  rowed  away 
in  his  clumsy  craft  toward  the  shore.  Mores  leaned 
over  the  bridge  rail  and  called  to  Everett. 

"You  can  breakfast  with  me,"  he  said.  "There 
are  some  things  I  must  discuss  with  you." 

Everett  followed  him  to  a  diminutive  cabin  be- 
neath the  bridge,  where  coffee  and  bread  were  await- 
ing upon  a  table. 

'That  man,"  Mores  said,  as  they  sat  down,  "is 


276  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

one  of  Don  Jose's  agents;  he  has  brought  some  in- 
teresting news.  Los  Barrios,  as  well  as  Rivadavia, 
is  now  completely  in  our  hands,  and  also  the  eastern 
province  of  Manzanillo.  It  is  Don  Jose's  plan  to 
reinforce  the  Santa  Palma  attack  with  combined 
troops  from  these  three  divisions — because  Santa 
Palma  is  giving  more  trouble  than  he  had  antici- 
pated; the  Valientes  are  still  held  up  at  the  Vega 
Real  outside  the  town. 

*The  Los  Barrios  and  Manzanillo  divisions  are 
on  their  way — so  far,  so  good.  But  the  Federalists 
made  one  exceedingly  clever  stroke  before  they  sur- 
rendered Rivadavia.  Their  military  engineers,  it 
seems,  have  mined  the  railroad  between  Rivadavia 
and  Santa  Palma,  so  that  we  cannot  use  it  to  trans- 
port our  troops.  That  will  delay  the  reinforcements 
for  at  least  a  day  while  they  march  to  Santa  Palma 
instead  of  going  by  train  as  had  been  planned." 

Everett  asked  how  the  Valientes  had  become 
aware  of  the  existence  of  the  mine. 

"Spies,  of  course.  Even  now  we  are  not  certain 
of  its  precise  location;  it  is  concealed,  and  only  a 
train  will  detonate  it.  We  do  know,  however,  that 
it  was  planned  to  place  the  mine  near  the  San  Jacinto 
tunnel — probably  in  the  tunnel  itself,  which  is  on  the 
side  of  a  mountain  some  fifteen  kilometers  inland 
from  Rivadavia.  A  dastardly  act,  but  an  infernally 
clever  one  when  you  come  to  think  of  it." 

''And  how  will  this  news  affect  us  here  on  the 
ship?"  Everett  asked  anxiously. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  277 

**Not  at  all — except  that  after  calling  at  Los  Bar- 
rios we  may  be  eventually  ordered  to  Santa  Palma, 
so  that  we  may  guard  the  northern  coast  until  the 
capital  is  in  Don  Jose's  hands.  Meanwhile  I  must 
warn  you  to  be  constantly  at  the  radio,  and  to  inform 
me  as  soon  as  you  are  in  communication  with  any 
vessels  approaching  Esperanza.  Don  Jose  is  espec- 
ially anxious  to  prevent  foreign  craft  from  coming 
into  our  ports  during  the  revolution." 

Everett  had,  during  this  conversation,  attempted 
to  size  up  the  man.  He  was  honest,  simple-hearted, 
a  guileless  servant  who  wished  to  obey  Don  Jose's 
every  order  without  question.  If  he  could  only  make 
a  friend  of  Mores,  it  occurred  to  him,  he  might  solve 
some  of  the  mysteries  that  had  of  late  been  puzzling 
him.    He  decided  upon  a  tentative  remark. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  putting  down  his  coffee 
cup,  "that  Don  Jose  is  needlessly  afraid  of  foreign 
interference.  This  revolution  is  purely  a  national 
affair  and  there  can  be  no  possible  reason  for  for- 
eigners to  mix  themselves  in  it." 

Mores  was  visibly  taken  aback ;  it  was  evident  that 
he  regarded  this  questioning  of  the  Rodriguez  policy 
as  almost  sacrilegious. 

**Your  suggestions  are  unnecessary,"  he  observed 
acidly.  'Tt  is  the  part  of  a  faithful  soldier  to  obey 
unquestioning." 

But  Everett  continued,  nevertheless,  to  muse  aloud 
as  he  sipped  his  coffee. 

"Fm  not  criticizing,  Almirante,"  he  said,  noticing 


278  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

that  his  use  of  the  title  somewhat  appeased  the  man^s 
ruffled  temper.  'Tm  merely  expressing  an  opinion 
that  would  occur  to  anyone  who  used  his  mind — " 
His  voice  became  grave  as  he  leaned  across  the  table. 
"There  is  something  back  of  all  this  which  Don  Jose 
has  never  explained  to  his  followers;  I  don't  know 
what  it  is,  but  it  exists — ^as  sure  as  Fm  sitting  here. 
Where,  for  instance,  did  all  the  money  come  from 
to  pay  for  the  rifles,  the  machine  guns — Tegel's 
aeroplane?  And  who  the  devil  is  Tegel,  anyway? 
He's  not  an  Esperanzan." 

Mores  rose  to  leave  the  table. 

*T  don't  know,"  he  said  shortly;  "this  is  iio  time 
for  suspicion" ;  then  pausing  at  the  door,  added  im- 
pulsively: " — but  to  tell  you  the  truth,  these  things 
have  also  puzzled  me  not  a  little." 


CHAPTER  VII 


The  first  saffron  streaks  that  presaged  dawn, 
staining  the  waters  of  Guantanamo  Bay,  picked  up 
from  the  depths  of  the  gloom  the  tremendous  bulk 
of  the  United  States  flagship  Columbia.  A  feeble 
shaft  of  daylight  penetrated  the  port  of  a  cabin  abaft 
the  forward  gun  turrets.  Within  the  cabin  a  tall, 
gray-bearded  man  in  naval  uniform  was  talking;  his 
voice  low,  his  expression  calm  but  serious. 

*'What  you  have  just  laid  before  me,"  the  Admiral 
said,  rising  to  terminate  the  interview,  "is  of  the 
greatest  significance — "  He  paused,  glancing  once 
more  at  the  litter  of  closely-written  sheets  lying  upon 
the  desk  before  him.  ''Your  signed  statement,  the 
result  of  what  you  have  seen  and  heard,  lends  un- 
deniable strength  to  the  matter;  but,  apart  from  that, 
Wing,  knowing  you  as  I  have  done  since  those  days 
at  Port  Arthur  and  Vladivostok,  I  have  implicit  con- 
fidence in  you.  You  can  rest  assured  that  the  whole 
affair  will  be  put  into  Washington's  hands  by  radio 
— code  of  course — within  the  next  few  hours.  And 
now  perhaps  you'll  come  and  have  some  breakfast. 

279 


28o  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

«• 

You  look  tired;  the  trip  in  that  small  motorboat 
couldn't  have  been  much  of  a  joke " 

"It  was  tiring,"  Wing  agreed,  **but  we  made  good 
time.  We  only  left  Santa  Palma  yesterday  at  noon 
— about  two  hundred  and  eighty  odd  miles  in  seven- 
teen hours.  I  had  to  pay  the  barquero  a  hell  of  a 
price,  though,  to  take  me.  He  was  scared  of  possible 
storms,  but  Fm  pretty  familiar  now  with  the  tricks 
of  the  Caribbean  barometer;  I  knew  we'd  get  here 
all  right.  Fm  sorry  I  can't  stay  now.  Admiral.  I've 
got  to  hurry  on  to  Santiago ;  there's  a  Pan-American 
liner  leaving  for  New  York  at  seven  this  evening." 

"I  suppose,"  the  Admiral  suggested  hurriedly, 
**that  you'll  use  your  discretion  as  to  what  you  re- 
veal to  the  Press — that  is,  until  Washington  has 
decided  upon  what  action  is  to  be  taken.  We  don't 
want  to  embarrass  the  government " 

**By  the  time  I  reach  New  York,"  Wing  replied, 
"you'll  be  down  at  Santa  Palma,  master  of  the  whole 
situation — unless  Washington  fails  to  act." 

"That  would  be  unthinkable.  Well.  It  would 
be  absurd  to  try  and  thank  you,  Wing,  for  a  tre- 
mendous service  like  this.'* 

Wing  said  sharply : 

"I  took  the  only  natural  course.  Fm  hoping,  too, 
that  this  little  scoop  will  make  them  sit  up  in 
Park  Row.  Life  in  the  old  dog  yet,  they'll  say — 
huh?" 

He  chuckled  throatily,  and  extended  his  hand. 

"By  the  way,"  said  the  Admiral.     "How  about 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  281 

this  harbor  at  Santa  Palma?  None  of  our  ships 
have  ever  touched  there.*' 

Wing  nodded  toward  the  papers  that  littered  the 
desk. 

"You'll  find  details  there— I  had  thought  of  that. 
There's  scarcely  fifty  feet  of  water  on  Santa  Palma 
bar  at  high  tide.  Rivadavia's  the  place  for  you — 
open  roadstead,  good  anchorage,  clean  landing  space 
with  stone  jetties.  Also  the  railroad  to  Santa  Palma 
begins  right  there  at  the  docks." 

He  nodded  again,  shook  hands,  and  left  the  cabin. 
As  he  clambered  down  the  Jacob's  ladder  to  the  wait- 
ing motorboat  the  sun  crept  above  the  horizon, 
changing  the  violet  waters  to  a  mellow,  translucent 
gold.  The  coastline  of  Cuba  appeared,  faint  and 
shrouded  in  a  veil  of  early  morning  mist,  and  the 
long,  dark  shapes  of  a  dozen  battleships  riding  at 
anchor  upon  the  placid  bay. 

Amidships  upon  the  Columbia,  as  the  motorboat 
chugged  clear  of  her  in  a  sweeping  arc,  the  crackle 
of  a  high-powered  radio  sharply  broke  the  dawn's 
stillness. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


An  ebony  night  that  dosed  in  relentlessly  upon 
an  oily,  smooth  sea.  An  indecisive  barometer,  and 
stifling  heat.  Through  a  world  of  blackness  the  gun- 
boat Presidente  Rodriguez  glided,  her  prow  pointed 
toward  Santa  Palma  thirty  knots  away. 

At  ten  o'clock  Everett  stumbled  wearily  aft  along 
the  narrow,  greasy  deck,  past  a  row  of  dilapidated 
lifeboats,  and  entered  the  wireless  cabin.  He  lighted 
the  oil  lamp ;  sat  down  at  the  keys,  an  expression  of 
disgust  upon  his  tired  face.  The  six  monotonous 
days  he  had  passed  upon  the  gunboat  lingered  as  a 
heavy,  palling  memory  in  his  mind.  He  could  not 
sleep,  and  he  had  taken  the  night  watch  from  his 
pupil — partly  from  motives  of  kindness,  partly  be- 
cause he  craved  even  this  distraction  from  the  mono- 
tony of  the  long,  black  hours  ahead  of  him. 

Through  the  wide-open  port  of  the  cabin  came 
only  the  sound  of  rippling  waves  against  the  ship's 
hull,  and  the  lazy  throb  of  the  propeller  astern.  The 
night  sky,  seen  through  the  port,  was  a  wall  of 
velvety     blackness,     unrelieved     and — somehow — 

282 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  283 

ominous.  He  picked  up  the  receiver  and  adjusted 
it  upon  his  head.  No  sound  tempered  the  impene- 
trable atmospheric  stillness.  He  found  himself 
suddenly  wishing,  fervently,  that  he  might  hear 
something — something  to  give  him  the  assurance 
that  other  human  beings  were  near;  that  the  gun- 
boat was  not  alone  in  an  endless  void  of  sea  and 
sky  and  night.  .  .  . 

'Tm  getting  nerves,"  he  thought,  and  laughed 
aloud.  He  sought  the  solace  of  a  cigarette,  in- 
haling it  profoundly  until  his  tensioned  nerves  were 
momentarily  calmed.  He  began,  presently,  to 
speculate  upon  his  chances  of  leaving  the  ship  when 
she  reached  Santa  Palma.  He  longed  to  be  at  the 
wheel  of  Don  Jose's  car  once  more,  speeding  along 
sunlit  roads ;  to  listen  to  Don  Jose's  caustic  remarks, 
his  amusing  ironies  and  sarcasms.  He  wanted 
desperately,  too,  to  see  Bianca;  to  hear  her  gentle 
contralto  voice,  her  face  the  while  turned  gravely, 
pleadingly  up  to  his.  He  must  see  her;  explain  his 
absence.  .  .  . 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  a  distant 
spasmodic  buzzing  in  the  receiver.  He  threw  away 
his  cigarette,  and  leaned  forward,  toying  with  the 
wave  length  indicator  until  the  buzzing  became  more 
distinct — focused;  finally  resolved  itself  into  a  co- 
herent sequence  of  dots  and  dashes. 

USlVB—he  hG2ird—USWB  de  XXA;  an 
American  fruit  boat  sending  a  formal  acknowledg- 
ment for  a  weather  report.    He  waited  impatiently 


284  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

until  the  message  was  completed,  then  swung  the 
change-over  switch  that  set  the  generator  to  life. 
The  cabin  hummed  with  the  sound  of  it,  rising  to 
a  plaintive  crescendo  wail;  the  semi-darkness  was 
seared  with  jagged,  intermittent  flashes  of  violet 
light;  the  air  became  gradually  pervaded  with  the 
sickening  odor  of  artificial  ozone. 

He  sent  the  attention  signal ;  then  called  the  fruit 
ship. 

XXA—XXA^XXA^thrte  times. 

He  switched  off  the  motor  and  waited.  The 
answer  came  after  three  minutes. 

XX A.    QRAf  (What  ship  is  that  calling?) 

Ignoring  the  question,  he  threw  on  the  current 
again  and  tapped  out: 

Have  you  any  news  of  the  Esperanza  revolution? 

He  was  curious  to  know  what  version  of  the 
affair,  if  any,  Don  Jose  had  supplied  to  the  out- 
side world.  He  fretted  through  ten  minutes  until 
the  reply  came. 

Know  nothing  about  Esperamsa.  Not  in  the 
code  book  Never  heard  of  any  revolution  there — 
QRT  (Please  don't  interrupt — very  insistently). 

He  laughed  aloud,  wishing  humorously  that  Don 
Jose  could  have  heard  that  frank  answer;  it  was 
illuminating.  Esperanza  was,  for  once,  definitely 
consigned  to  its  proper  degree  of  importance  in 
the  affairs  of  a  busy  universe. 

Again  he  adjusted  the  wave  length,  and  listened 
idly.    He  was  able  to  distinguish  the  metallic  blurr 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  285 

of  HIA  (that  was  San  Domingo)  sputtering  angry 
instructions  to  a  Dutch-West  Indian  freighter  that 
had  stupidly  lost  its  bearings.  The  whole  world, 
he  thought,  was  irritated,  unnerved  by  the  stifling 
imminence  of  the  night. 

His  head  nodded,  after  a  while,  and  slipped 
forward  upon  his  breast ;  he  allowed  himself  to  drift 
into  a  pleasant,  vague  state  of  oblivion  that  was 
penetrated  now  and  then  by  the  obscure  throbbing 
of  the  engine  amidships.  .  .  . 

How  long  he  slept  he  did  not  know — perhaps 
ten  minutes,  perhaps  an  hour,  or  two.  He  was 
roused  abruptly,  to  sit  bolt  upright  in  his  chair,  by 
a  strange  yet  curiously  familiar  sound  emanating 
from  the  receiver.  He  leaned  forward,  automatic- 
ally focusing  the  wave  length.  He  knew  the  sound 
— oh,  so  well,  but  could  not  for  the  moment  place 
it  in  his  mind.  With  a  growing  sense  of  surprise 
he  lengthened  the  wave  above  800,  the  shipping 
standard,  still  unable  to  classify  the  meaningless 
hum  in  his  ears.  ...  At  last  he  had  it,  concise 
and  definite — just  above  950;  and  it  dawned  upon 
him  in  an  access  of  acute  realization  that  he  was 
listening  to  a  United  States  naval  apparatus.  Mem- 
ories of  the  radio  schools  came  flooding  to  his  brain 
in  an  incoherent  chaos.  Tense  with  an  inexplicable 
premonitory  excitement  he  listened.  The  message, 
apparently  from  one  ship  to  another,  was  in  a  naval 
code;  he  found  himself  reading  detached  phrases, 
here  and  there,  with  an  almost  startling  ease. 


286  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

.  .  .  We  are  128  miles  N.  of  Rivadazna  .  .  . 
course  south  by  south  east  half  south. 

And  then  the  other  apparatus,  farther  away  and 
irritatingly  faint.  An  atmospheric  disturbance 
momentarily  obUterated  its  clarity.  .  .  .  Marine 
detachment  to  seise  railhead  .  .  .  orders  ... 
later  .  .  .  troops  immediately  via  rail  to  Santa 
Pcdma. 

His  mind  was  in  a  turbulent  state;  he  listened 
intently,  but  heard  no  more ;  the  night  held  its  peace, 
guarding  jealously  its  secrets.  United  States  battle- 
ships approaching  Rivadavia!  Troops  to  Santa 
Palma.  .  .  .  What  could  it  mean?  It  was  appall- 
ingly clear  to  him  that,  for  some  reason  unknown, 
the  United  States  had  decided  to  intervene  in  Esper- 
anzan  affairs.  He  felt  suddenly  and  helplessly 
engulfed  in  a  gigantic  vortex  of  international 
politics — tremendous  official  secrets,  of  which  he 
knew  nothing.  .  .  .  His  own  pitiful  little  respons- 
ibilities assumed,  at  the  same  time,  terrifying 
proportions.  The  shadow  of  vast,  incomprehensible 
events  obscured  the  immediate  future. 

He  opened  the  cabin  door,  and  a  blast  of  furnace- 
like air  assailed  him  as  he  hurried  forward  along 
the  deck.  He  climbed  the  bridge  ladder  and,  con- 
fronting Mores  at  the  top,  told  him  hurriedly  what 
he  had  heard. 

Mores  was  at  first  amazed,  incredulous.  He  was 
forced  to  reiterate  his  words.  An  expression  of 
growing  concern  came  upon  the  Esperanzan's  dark 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  287 

countenance;  he  strolled  over  to  the  speaking  tube, 
shouted  a  hasty  command  to  the  engine  room;  then 
turned  to  Everett. 

"We  will  be  at  Santa  Palma  within  a  half  hour^s 
time.  You  will  accompany  me  to  the  Casa  Azul 
and  repeat  to  Don  Jose,  who  will  be  there,  what  you 
have  just  heard.  Meanwhile  I  will  give  you  a 
message  to  communicate  to  these  Americanos^  to 
find  out  the  meaning  of  their  intentions." 

He  eyed  Everett,  for  an  instant,  darkly — as  if 
holding  him  personally  responsible  for  the  deeds  of 
his  countrymen,  and  then  entered  the  chart  room. 
Through  the  window  Everett  saw  him  bending 
over  a  table,  writing,  his  forehead  corrugated  by 
a  worried  frown.  He  came  out  several  minutes 
later  and  handed  him  a  slip  of  paper. 

Everett  hurried  back  to  the  wireless  cabin; 
switched  on  the  motor  and  sent  out  the  U.  S.  Navy 
call: 

The  Admiral  commanding  the  Esperansan  Liberation- 
ist  cruiser  Presidente  Rodriguez  respectfully  enquires 
the  meaning  of  the  presence  of  United  States  battle- 
ships in  Esperansan  waters. 

Sebastien  Mores,    AlnUrante. 

He  found  himself  smiling  at  the  sleekly  official 
phrasing  of  the  message.  Poor  little  Esperanza, 
so  impotent,  yet  so  vainglorious.  .  .  . 

The    answer    came    sooner    than    he    expected. 


288  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Barely  ten  minutes  had  passed  when  the  naval 
apparatus  boomed  loud  and  insistent  in  his  ears, 
seemingly  threatened  to  shatter  the  delicate  receiver. 
He  took  up  a  pencil ;  jotted  down  the  words  as  they 
formed  themselves,  with  staccato  swiftness,  in  his 
brain : 

The  enquiry  of  the  Admiral  commanding  the  "Libera- 
tionist"  vessel  is  hereby  answered.  Pending  certain  in- 
vestigations by  the  United  States  government  concern- 
ing the  recent  uprising  in  Es  per  ansa  United  States 
Marine  forces  will  occupy  the  principal  seaports  of 
the  republic, 

Macdonald 

Rear  Admiral  U.  S.  N. 

The  words  rang  mockingly  in  his  ears,  long 
after  the  vibrations  had  died  away  in  the  receiver. 
A  nameless  fear  swept  over  him;  he  foresaw 
trouble,  disaster,  for  all  those  concerned  in  Don 
Jose's  spirited  venture.  The  greatness  of  his  own 
country  seemed,  of  a  sudden,  an  imminent,  concrete 
fact. 

He  took  the  message  up  to  Mores,  who  read  it 
without  comment  and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 
Almost  at  the  same  moment  the  lights  of  Santa 
Palma  appeared,  glimmering,  off  the  port  bow. 

II 

It  was  after  midnight  when  Mores,  accompanied 
by  Everett,  reached  the  summit  of  the  long  climb 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  289 

to  the  Casa  Azul.  They  had  been  careful  to  avoid 
Santa  Palma,  making  their  landing  from  the  gun- 
boat's pinnace  at  an  obscure  indenture  of  the  coast 
near  the  harbor  mouth.  Violet  lightning  wavered 
in  the  sky  as  they  neared  the  house.  They  entered 
without  ceremony  and  Mores  knocked  at  the  library 
door. 

Don  Jose  appeared;  greeted  them  with  quiet 
gravity,  betrayed  no  surprise  at  their  sudden  appear- 
ance. He  summoned  Mores  into  the  library,  asking 
Everett  politely  to  wait  in  the  hall  until  he  had  need 
of  him.  The  door  closed.  Everett  stood  at  the 
threshold  idly  watching  the  intermittent  flashes  of 
lightning  above  the  harbor  that  presaged  an 
approaching  storm. 

Presently  Mores  emerged  from  the  library,  passed 
by  him,  hurrying  out  of  the  house.  Everett  started 
irresolutely,  to  follow  him  but  was  halted  by  a  per- 
emptory command  from  Don  Jose  who  had  come 
to  the  library  door. 

"Come  in  here,  Gail,'*  he  said  with  an  unwonted 
harshness.  "I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you,  my  young 
friend.  You  are  not  to  return  to  the  gunboat  until 
I  have  questioned  you  upon  certain  matters." 

Everett  entered  the  library;  sat  down  in  a  chair, 
slightly  bewildered. 

"This  interference  from  the  United  States," 
Don  Jose  began,  "puts  everything  in  a  new  light. 
Indeed,  it  gravely  threatens  the  success  of  my  plans. 
Now,  as  to  you —    In  case  of — eh — some  unpleas- 


290  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

ant  friction  between  the  Liberationists  and  your 
own  country,  where  would  you  stand?" 

Everett  was  perplexed  at  the  suddenness  of  the 
question. 

"I — I  hadn't  thought  of  such  a  possibility,"  he 
admitted.  **But," — gathering  more  courage  as  he 
spoke — **if  that  was  the  case,  I  would  certainly  have 
to  ask  you  to  release  me  from  any  further  obligation 
to  serve  you.  You'd  understand  that,  of  course " 

Don  Jose  nodded  impatiently.  His  voice  re- 
mained calm,  yet  immeasurably  bitter. 

"Exactly.  I  had  believed  you  would  say  that. 
But,  unfortunately,  such  things  are  not  so  easily 
arranged."  He  became  more  visibly  irate.  *'l  must 
tell  you  that  in  my  opinion  your  country  has  taken 
an  intolerable  and  high-handed  action.  The  vaunted 
love  of  you  Americans  for  the  freedom  and  liberty 
of  small  nations!  What  does  it  amount  to,  in  the 
face  of  tonight's  news?     Bah — empty  words!" 

He  snapped  his  fingers  contemptuously. 

"An  American  battleship  is,  by  now,  anchoring 
off  Rivadavia;  others  will  follow.  They  will  land 
a  detachment  of  marine  soldiers  sometime  to- 
morrow morning,  occupy  the  town  and  seize  the 
railhead.  Another  detachment  will  be  sent  up  to 
Santa  Palma  via  the  San  Jacinto  line " 

"There  must  be  some  very  good  reason — " 
Everett  started  to  interpose;  then  stopped  short, 
suddenly  gripped  by  fear;  his  hands  clenched  the 
arms  of  his  chair.    Something,  out  of  the  past,  with 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  291 

stupendous,  paralyzing  clarity  smote  his  brain.  He 
stood  up,  unsteadily ;  found  his  voice  with  a  supreme 
effort. 

"I've  just  remembered — Mores  told  me  the  other 
day  that  the  San  Jacinto  tunnel  had  been  mined  by 
Federalist  engineers.  If  the  U.  S.  Marines  are 
going  to  use  the  railroad  we've  got  to  see  that 
they're  warned  in  time  of  that.  Perhaps — couldn't 
I  hurry  back  to  the  gunboat  now,  and  send  a  mes- 
sage by  radio? " 

He  paused,  awaiting  Don  Jose's  answer.  The 
silence  of  the  room  was,  at  the  moment,  intense, 
unnerving.  The  sound  of  a  moth  beating  itself 
to  death  against  a  golden  lamp  reached  his  ears 
eerily  magnified.  The  clock  above  the  glimmering 
marble  mantelpiece  whirred  tentatively,  and  struck 
the  half -hour. 

"I  am  supposed  to  know  nothing  of  Federalist 
treacheries,"  he  heard  Don  Jose  replying  coolly. 
"Your  soldiers  must  find  out  such  things  for  them- 
selves ;  I  cannot  allow  you  to  use  the  gunboat's  wire- 
less for  such  idle  matters.  Moreover — '*  he  smiled 
slowly,  "if  the  Federalists  were,  by  chance,  to  get 
into  trouble  with  the  United  States  as  a  result  of 
their  own  evil  it  would  be  all  the  better  for  our 
cause." 

Everett,  aghast,  involuntarily  stepped  back. 

"Good  God!  You  don't — you  can't  mean  that 
you'd  want  to  risk  the  lives  of  a  trainload  of  men 
for  a  possible  political  benefit?" 


2^2  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

And  then  Don  Jose  seemed  to  undergo  a  trans- 
formation before  his  eyes.  He  rose,  towering,  from 
his  chair;  his  face  livid,  his  mobile  lips  twitching 
queerly.  Everett  saw,  dimly,  the  knotted  veins 
protruding  upon  his  temples.  .  .  . 

"You  little  fool!"  he  snarled.  "The  Federalists 
will  dig  their  own  grave,  and  if  they  bury  a  pack 
of  your  cursed,  interfering  soldiers  in  it,  so  mucK 
the  better.  It  will  be  no  affair  of  mine.  I  forbid 
you — hear  me — to  mention  this  San  Jacinto  mine 
to  another  human  soul " 

Everett  laughed  suddenly — shrilly. 

"You  can't  forbid  me!"  he  cried.  "I'm  going 
now — to  send  a  warning." 

He  had,  as  he  spoke,  commenced  to  back  slowly 
toward  the  library  door,  w^hich  he  knew  was  some- 
where not  far  behind  him;  his  hand  groped,  behind 
his  back,  frantically,  for  the  knob  of  the  door. 
Don  Jose  made  a  swift,  sudden  movement,  and  the 
barrel  of  a  revolver  gleamed,  levelled,  in  the 
lamplight. 

"Don't  move,"  he  commanded.  "I  mean  it.  I 
have  no  time  to  waste  with  useless  heroics " 

At  last  his  hand  found  the  wall  behind  him.  He 
knew,  with  sinking  heart,  that  he  had  misjudged 
the  situation  of  the  door  by,  perhaps,  two  or  three 
feet.  A  wave  of  mingled  terror  and  defiance  swept 
over  him.  Standing  motionless,  yet  allowing  his 
hand  to  still  move  with  infinite  caution,  he  parried 
desperately  for  time. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  293 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do  with  me?" 
**I  am  going  to  compel  you  to  Hsten  to  reason.'* 
His  fingers  closed  feverishly  upon  a  hard,  solid 
object  that  protruded  from  the  sheer  smoothness 
of  the  wall.  Giddy,  triumphant  exultation  surged 
through  him;  he  laughed,  outright,  at  Don  Jose; 
his  fingers  turned.  .  .  .  The  room  was  instantly 
in  darkness.  He  whirled  about,  groping  blindly, 
wildly,  for  the  door.  ...  A  vivid  orange  flame 
leapt  across  the  blackness,  followed  by  a  deafening, 
stunning  report.  Something,  at  the  same  instant, 
sang  past  his  head;  struck  the  wall  with  a  whip- 
like crack.  ...  He  found  the  door  and  opened 
it;  plunged  down  the  hall,  out  of  the  house.  He 
was  conscious  of  Don  Jose's  heavy,  cluttering  steps 
upon  the  tiles,  close  behind  him. 

The  garden  was  impenetrably  black,  pervaded 
by  an  uncanny  stillness.  A  few  heavy  drops  of  rain 
were  falling,  bringing  acutely  to  his  nostrils  the 
pungent  smell  of  earth.  He  found  his  way  at  last, 
stumbling,  to  the  gate ;  attained  the  open  road.  He 
broke  into  a  run,  Don  Jose's  footsteps  persistently 
audible  behind  him. 

He  skirted  the  garden  wall,  a  gray  streak  topped 
by  a  blurred  mass  oi  foliage.  Just  as  he  reached 
the  end  of  the  wall,  came  abreast  of  the  narrow 
archway  that  led  into  the  adjacent  garden,  a  white 
figure  resolved  itself  suddenly  out  of  the  deep 
obscurity  ahead  of  him;  barred  his  way.  He 
paused,  undetermined,  heart  hammering  in  his  throat. 


294  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Before  he  could  grasp  her  intentions  Bianca  had 
swept  him  through  the  archway;  pushed  him, 
crouching,  against  the  inside  of  the  wall.  He  tried 
to  speak,  but  felt  the  warm  palm  of  her  hand 
sealing  his  lips. 

"Don't  speak,"  she  whispered.  "He  will  go  by; 
he  will  never  think  to  stop " 

Hot,  trembling  fingers  clutched  his  desperately 
as  the  heavy  footsteps  became  audible,  jogging  by 
on  the  road;  then  fading  gradually  into  the  dis- 
tance. They  waited — in  utter  silence,  with  stifled 
breaths.  The  minutes,  as  they  passed,  seemed 
infinite,  measureless.  ...  At  last  they  heard 
him  returning  with  unwilling,  lagging  steps  that 
were  eloquent  of  failure.  The  door  of  the  Casa 
Azul  was  slammed  to,  viciously. 

Ill 

The  storm  burst,  then,  with  furious  intensity 
upon  them,  and  they  hurried  through  the  garden  to 
seek  the  shelter  of  the  verandah.  The  night  wind 
lashed  the  yielding  trunks  of  the  palms,  tore  through 
swaying,  rustling  foliage.  Rain  came,  suddenly,  in 
an  opaque,  blinding  sheet  that  struck  the  hard 
earth  beneath  their  feet  with  a  sound  like  that  of 
beating  drums,  a  sound  that  gradually  increased 
to  a  rhythmatic,  obliterating  roar.  Doors  in  the 
villa  swung  on  their  hinges,  and  crashed;  the  flame 
of  a  solitary  candle  burning  in  an  upper-story 
window  flickered  uncertainly,  and  went  out. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  295 

"How — did  you  know  that  I  was  here?"  he 
gasped  as  they  reached  the  verandah.  She  lowered 
the  flame  of  a  swinging  lamp,  cautiously,  and 
turned  to  him  in  the  semi-darkness. 

"I  was  watching  from  my  window,"  she  said, 
**and  saw  the  gunboat  entering  the  harbor.  Then, 
about  an  hour  later,  you  and  a  man  in  naval  uni- 
form arrived  at  the  Casa  Azul.  Tell  me,  quickly, 
what  has  happened.  You — you  have  broken  with 
Don  Jose?" 

He  told  her  hurriedly  all  that  had  occurred. 

"And  so  the  end  has  come,"  he  concluded  bitterly. 
"My  God,  Bianca,  I  don't  know  what  it  is — but  I 
had  felt  lately  that  something  was  wrong— some- 
thing hidden,  lurking  behind  it  all.  I  must  have 
been  right,  for  America  has  come  in — to  intervene. 
Don  Jose's  little  army  won't  be  worth  a  damn — 
now." 

Suddenly,  in  a  complete  revulsion  of  mood,  he 
gathered  her  into  his  arms. 

"I've  got  to  go.  God  knows  I  can't  help  it — 
you  will  understand  that  .  .  .  those  fellows  riding 
to  certain  death  in  the  tunnel,  tomorrow  morning. 
Something's  got  to  be  done.  You  wouldn't  have 
me  do  nothing,  Bianca?" 

He  felt  immense,  grateful  relief  when,  after  a 
pause,  she  shook  her  head. 

"I  understand,"  she  told  him  in  a  frightened, 
poignant  undertone.  "It's  your  duty,  of  course. 
Men — at  least,  a  great  many  men — rate  duty  higher 


296  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

than  anything  else.  They're  different  from 
women — "  her  voice  wavered  pitifully.  **But,  oh, 
Everett,  it  means — it  means  that  you're  never 
coming  back;  that  I'm  never  to  see  you  again!" 

Her  arms  were  about  his  neck  in  a  tightening, 
clinging  embrace,  her  cheek,  wet  with  tears,  pressed 
to  his.  He  was  supremely  conscious  of  the  quiver- 
ing of  her  lithe  body,  racked  with  uncontrolled, 
unashamed  grief.  Something  of  the  old  allurement 
of  her  penetrated  him,  haunting  memories  of  the 
compelling  vividness  of  her  charms.  ...  A  wave 
of  passionate  emotion  rose  within  him,  ready  to 
sweep  him  away  in  its  unruly  strength;  he  fought 
it,  with  a  tremendous  effort,  to  a  reasoning 
calm. 

"Suppose,"  he  whispered — and  he  heard  his  own 
voice  in  a  curious,  objective  way,  as  if  someone 
else  were  speaking — "suppose  you  come  with  me, 
Bianca.     We  can  share  our  lives  together " 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  bitter  little  laugh, 
through  her  tears. 

"Don't  talk  nonsense.  All  beautiful  things,  as 
I  once  told  you,  come  to  an  end — "  A  wave  of 
resignation  seemed  to  have  enveloped  her,  impart- 
ing something  of  its  essence  to  him;  caused  him 
the  more  to  realize  the  futility  of  his  urgings.  "We 
human  fools  make  our  greatest,  most  tragic  mis- 
take, my  dearest,  when  we  wilfully  defy  what  is 
intended  for  us — "  her  voice  trembled,  broke  to 
an  almost  incoherent  whisper.     "It  is  written,  as 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  297 

clearly  as  possible,  that  our  happiness  is  over;  that 
you  and  I  are  to  part." 

Of  a  sudden  she  seemed  to  recover  her  equa- 
nimity, he  spoke,  presently,  in  a  new,  matter-of- 
fact  voice. 

"How  are  you  going  to  send  this  news  to  the 
Americans?" 

"By  radio,"  he  told  her,  "from  the  gunboat.  She 
isn't  due  to  sail  until  dawn." 

As  if  for  an  answer  she  pointed  toward  the 
distant  harbor,  through  a  rift  in  the  swirling 
foliage  of  the  garden.  A  green  light,  swaying  at 
a  masthead,  was  travelling  swiftly  seawards.  He 
was  momentarily  stunned,  appalled.  The  thing 
dawned,  then,  clearly  upon  him.  Mores  had  been 
given  new  orders,  in  the  library,  while  he  had 
waited,  an  unknowing  fool,  upon  the  threshold.  .  .  . 

Bianca  remained  silent,  and  he  knew  instinctively 
that  no  help  would  come  from  her.  He  spoke, 
resolutely. 

"I'll  follow  the  railway  line.  It's  about  forty 
kilometers.  I  could  walk  it  in  six  hours.  Yes; 
there'll  be  time." 

She  clung  to  him  desperately  then. 

"Stay,  just  a  moment  more — a  last,  happy 
moment." 

He  attempted  to  kiss  her  but  she  drew  away, 
offering  a  surprising,  unlooked-for  resistance. 

"You  don't  understand,"  she  whispered  gently. 
"Love  isn't  all — passion.     I  only  wanted  to  sit  by 


298  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

you,  oh,  so  quietly,  for  a  little  moment  before 
you  go." 

And  so  they  sat  down  in  mute  silence,  her  hand 
resting  lightly  in  his,  until  the  distant  bells  of  the 
Santa  Palma  Cathedral  boomed  the  hour  of  one. 
As  he  rose  to  leave  she  unfastened  something  from 
her  neck,  slipped  it  swiftly  over  his  head — ^a  thin 
golden  chain  bearing  a  pendent,  symbolic  figure. 

"It  will  protect  you,"  she  assured  him  with  a 
grave,  childlike  certainty.  "It  has  been  blessed  by 
a  holy  man.  And  now  go,  my  precious.  Vaya 
con  Dios." 

She  drew  his  head  down.  For  a  timeless  moment 
her  lips  clung  to  his  in  a  fierce,  yielding  kiss  as  if 
she  were  endeavoring  to  surrender  to  him  for  this 
last  time  something  of  her  supreme  vitality — her 
very  soul ;  then  she  fled  from  him,  became  a  blurred, 
pathetic  figure  on  the  glimmering  threshold.  He 
stumbled  out  into  the  darkness,  conscious  of  a 
rising  contraction  in  his  throat;  that  his  eyes  were 
moist.  ...  A  faintly  cool  breeze  fanned  his  hot 
cheeks  as  he  turned  into  the  road  and  headed  to- 
ward Santa  Palma,  mechanically,  like  a  man  in 
some  witless  trance. 


CHAPTER  IX 


There  was  no  degree  of  permanence  to  the  cool 
respite  granted  by  the  storm.  Dawn  came  in  a 
coppery  haze  of  inert  heat,  through  which  the  sun 
burst  to  flood  the  earth  for  yet  another  twelve  hours 
in  its  pitiless  glare.  It  infuriated  Everett  with  its 
implacability.  It  was  a  senseless,  brutal  sun,  he 
thought,  as  he  sat  down  to  rest  his  weary  body  in 
the  inadequate  shade  of  some  palmettos  whose 
leaves  were  already  withered  to  a  sickly  yollow  by 
the  perpetual  heat. 

Hope  was  ebbing.  A  wave  of  despair  seized 
him  as  he  attained  the  crest  of  the  palmetto-fringed 
ridge  above  the  Vega  Real.  All  night  long  he  had 
been  climbing,  climbing,  relentlessly,  to  reach  it — 
at  first  through  the  winding  maze  of  Santa  Raima's 
lightless,  deserted  streets,  crouching  again  and 
again  in  some  obscene  alley  to  avoid  detection  by 
an  occasional  Federalist  patrol.  Two  hours  of 
walking  had  seen  him  safely  beyond  the  Federalist 
territory,  and  into  the  suburban  heights  of  Santo 
Cerro  which  were  in  the  hands  of  Liberationist 
outposts — now  also  to  be  reckoned  as  his  enemies. 

299 


300  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

He  had  reached  the  hillside  terminus  of  the  Riva- 
davia  railway  to  find  it  barren  and  lightless,  and 
left  it  in  the  swift  realization  that  there  was  little 
likelihood  of  a  train  leaving  there  for  many  a  day. 
He  had  climbed  onward  and  upward,  following  the 
steep  incline  of  the  single  track  with  its  central 
rack-and-pinion  rail,  in  the  dim  light  of  a  late  moon 
that  peered  feebly  through  the  tattered  cloud  rem- 
nants of  the  storm.  Dawn  found  him  at  the  summit 
of  the  ridge,  and  the  coincident  discovery  from  a 
railway  sign  that  he  was  scarcely  ten  kilometers 
from  Santa  Palma  was  the  cause  of  his  complete 
dismay. 

He  told  himself  by  means  of  a  swift  calculation 
that  he  would  be  unable  to  reach  Rivadavia,  thirty 
kilometers  away,  even  with  the  aid  of  daylight, 
before  half  past  nine,  or  ten  o'clock;  and  that  might 
prove  too  late.  .  .  .  Already  his  throat  was 
parched,  the  soles  of  his  feet  aching  from  the  long, 
stumbling  climb.  The  sun,  too,  seemed  malignantly 
to  rejoice  at  his  misery.  Waves  of  shimmering 
heat  rose  in  the  air  ahead  of  him  from  between  the 
gleaming  metal  bands  of  the  railway.  Thirty 
kilometers  more  .  .  .  the  lives  of  a  trainload  of 
men  depending  solely  upon  his  own  fortitude.  .  .  . 
He  stumbled  on. 

As  he  resumed  his  way  along  the  ridge,  after  the 
brief  and  blessed  pause,  he  could  discern,  away  down 
on  the  gray-green  undulated  carpet  of  the  Vega 
Real,  a  khaki-clad  group  of  Valient es  gathered  at 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  301 

a  spot  perhaps  five  hundred  yards  from  the  out- 
skirts of  a  primitive  thatched  village.  They  occu- 
pied the  summit  of  a  tiny  knoll  on  the  plain,  and  he 
could  see  them  hovering  anxiously  about  a  fixed 
object  that  gleamed  sharply  in  the  sunshine — 3, 
machine  gun,  he  concluded.  The  men  worked  with 
feverish  haste,  and  distance  lent  to  their  movements 
a  certain  comic  diminutiveness ;  they  were,  for  all 
the  world,  like  dancing  cardboard  figures. 

And  then,  as  he  was  watching  them,  there 
appeared  suddenly  at  the  crest  of  the  white  road 
that  climbed  up  from  the  direction  of  Santa  Palma 
a  compact  green  and  red  mass,  moving  forward 
with  a  relentless,  clockwork  precision  toward  the 
thatched  village.  He  caught,  too,  a  momentary 
flash  of  bayonets  in  the  sun.  The  doll-like  figures 
upon  the  knoll  became  fantastically  animated.  A 
white  puff  of  smoke  rose  lazily  into  the  air,  and 
there  reached  his  ears  a  prolonged,  infuriated 
stuttering.  .  .  .  The  colored  patch  upon  the  road 
paused  in  its  advance,  wavered  oddly;  broke  hur- 
riedly into  minute,  detached  fragments  that 
scattered  in  all  directions.  Two  motionless  specks 
remained,  blurring  the  chalk-white  surface  of  the 
road. 

The  voices  of  the  Valientes,  hoarsely  exultant, 
reached  him  as  they  moved  forward  triumphantly 
toward  the  village. 

He  continued  on  his  way.  The  line  skirted  the 
margin  of  the  plain  for  another  three  kilometers. 


302  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

then  dipped  into  a  widening  valley  greenly  fertile 
with  ripening  tobacco.  He  reached,  presently,  a 
straggling  village  of  dilapidated  roofless  huts,  the 
white  plaster  walls  of  which  were  cracked  and 
gaping  to  the  sunshine.  He  caught  a  glimpse,  as 
he  passed,  of  a  haggard  old  woman  cooking  plan- 
tains upon  an  open-air  charcoal  brazier;  children, 
brown  and  shamelessly  naked,  sprawling  in  the 
white  dust  at  her  feet;  an  untidy  clutter  of  red 
Carib  pottery  and  gourds,  dripping  with  grease, 
suspended  from  wooden  skewers.  An  offensive 
odor  that  betrayed  a  lack  of  drainage  assailed  his 
nostrils.  ...  A  hopeless  people,  he  mused  as  he 
hurried  along;  it  would  take  more  than  one  Don 
Jose  to  lift  such  as  these  out  of  their  complacent 
squalor;  more  than  one  upheaval  to  open  their  eyes 
to  what  the  outer  world  called  civilization. 

He  came  upon  the  station,  a  square  construction 
of  white  stucco  with  a  corrugated  iron  roof,  a 
narrow  gravelled  platform  with  a  solitary  drooping 
semaphore  above  it.  The  place  was,  apparently, 
deserted.  He  learned  from  a  sign  adorning  the 
stucco  walls  that  the  name  of  the  village  was 
Paraiso.  He  laughed  aloud,  wishing  Don  Jose 
could  have  seen  that;  it  was,  in  a  way,  as  ironical 
a  comment  upon  Esperanzan  temperament  as  he  had 
yet  come  across. 

Beyond  the  station  he  made  an  unexpected  dis- 
covery— a  hand  car,  deserted,  lying  idle  upon  a 
rusty,  grass-grown  spur  of  track.     It  did  not  take 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  303 

him  long  to  reach  a  decision.  He  glanced  about 
hurriedly;  no  one  was  in  sight.  He  approached 
the  car;  gave  it  a  push,  and  found  to  his  joy  that 
it  rolled  easily  to  his  touch.  He  maneuvered  it 
down  the  spur  to  the  main  line,  clambered  aboard 
and  sat  down  on  the  insecure,  saddle-shaped  seat; 
the  lever  responded  to  his  efforts,  and  a  moment 
later  he  began  to  glide  down  the  long,  straight 
stretch  of  track  that  led  toward  a  horizon  of  purple 
hills.  The  grade  proved  slightly  downward  and  the 
fragile  wheels  of  the  car,  gathering  speed  with 
every  thrust  of  his  arms,  broke  into  a  shrill  song. 

Some  few  kilometers  from  the  village  he  swept 
down  a  dip  in  the  track,  left  the  tobacco  fields  and 
plunged  suddenly  into  a  thickening  forest  of  gum 
trees.  Wild  fig  ferns  lined  the  margin  of  the  road- 
bed in  a  riotous  profusion  of  wavering  foliage. 
The  blueness  of  the  sky  overhead  became  gradually 
obscured,  only  faintly  visible  through  a  tangled 
ceiling  of  interwoven  branches.  The  morning  air 
was,  of  a  sudden,  penetratingly  damp  as  he  rolled 
onward  into  a  green,  primeval  world. 

II 

Nine  o'clock  by  his  watch,  and  he  had  emerged 
from  the  forest.  The  aspect  of  the  country  about 
him  changed  rapidly.  Vegetation  grew  sparser, 
finally  giving  way  to  a  black  desert  strewn  with 
rugged  fragments  of  volcanic  bowlders.  The  track 
ahead  of  him  rose  sharply  to  an  irregular  skyline 


304  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

of  rock,  and  the  hand  car,  despite  his  vigorous 
efforts,  slackened  perceptibly  in  its  speed.  He 
flung  off  his  coat,  set  to  work  with  increasing 
energy;  the  muscles  stood  out  rigid  upon  his  arms, 
sweat  poured  down  his  cheeks.  The  hand  car  be- 
came, all  at  once,  a  tremendous,  unwieldy  affair. 

The  grade  assumed  an  acute  steepness;  the 
wheels  of  the  car  scarcely  revolved.  He  labored 
desperately  and,  at  last,  after  a  torturing  ten 
minutes  that  seemed  a  whole  aeon  of  time,  breasted 
the  summit  of  the  climb;  stopped,  at  the  point  of 
exhaustion. 

He  seemed  to  have  reached  the  crest  of  the 
world;  a  limitless  panorama  stretched  to  infinity, 
far  below  him.  Away  off  on  the  horizon  he  could 
see  the  Caribbean  glimmering  through  a  trans- 
parent, colorless  haze.  Beneath  him  the  volcanic 
range  on  which  he  stood  descended  sheerly  to  pallid 
fields  of  sugar-cane  that  sloped  to  the  sea  many, 
many  kilometers  away.  He  could  trace  the  gleam 
of  the  railway  track,  here  and  there,  as  it  descended 
in  zigzagging  uncertainty,  clinging  insecurely  to 
the  barren,  bowlder-strewn  mountainside.  There 
were  hairpin  curves  that  sent  a  qualm  of  uneasiness 
through  him  at  the  prospect  of  the  descent  he  had 
to  make.  At  one  point,  about  half  way  down  the 
mountain,  the  track  was  swallowed  up  from  view, 
to  reappear  again  some  five  hundred  yards  below 
at  a  totally  unexpected  spot.  It  occurred  to  him, 
instantly,  that  this  must  be  the  San  Jacinto  tunnel. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  305 

The  situation,  he  decided,  required  careful  de- 
liberation. He  could  not  pass  through  the  tunnel, 
he  knew,  because  of  the  mine.  He  realized  with 
an  overwhelming  sense  of  disappointment  that  he 
would  be  compelled  to  abandon  the  car  at  the 
mouth  of  the  tunnel,  scramble  down  the  slope  of  the 
mountain  to  the  track  below  as  best  he  could,  and 
continue  to  Rivadavia  on  foot — there  appeared  to 
be  no  alternative. 

As  he  stood  there  undetermined,  fraught  with  a 
hundred  anxieties,  there  came  drifting  upward  into 
the  clear  sky  above  him  a  cloud  of  vaporous  white 
smoke;  it  expanded  lazily  upon  the  still  air,  broke 
into  irregular  fragments,  obscuring  the  distant 
glimmer  of  the  sea — and,  at  precisely  the  same 
instant,  there  reached  his  ears  a  faint  but  insistent 
metallic  clatter.  Thunderstruck,  he  stepped  for- 
ward to  the  edge  of  the  ridge  and  peered  downward. 
Far  below  him  a  toy  train  was  puffing  around  a 
gentle  curve,  starting  the  ascent  of  the  mountainside. 
He  could  distinguish  an  absurd,  miniature  loco- 
motive, a  straggling  line  of  flat  cars;  could  even 
discern  the  gleam  of  frantically  revolving  piston 
rods.  And  then  it  dawned  upon  him,  as  he  looked, 
that  the  flat  cars  were  not  empty,  but  full — crowded 
with  a  blurred,  indistinct  freight.  .  .  .  Men;  hun- 
dreds of  men  packed  together! 

He  knew  with  a  terrifying  certainty  that  he 
must  reach  the  tunnel  before  the  train.  Everything 
was  happening  so  quickly;   if   only  he  had   time 


3o6  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

to  think!  ...  He  started  the  hand  car  rolling 
down  the  steep  gradient;  jumped  upon  it.  Gather- 
ing momentum  with  every  foot  of  progress  it 
plunged  downward  in  a  swaying,  uncontrolled 
flight.  As  he  swept  giddily  around  the  first  of  the 
acute  curves,  clinging  desperately  to  his  insecure 
seat,  a  kind  of  primitive  exultation  seized  him.  He 
knew  that  he  had  definitely,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  a  supreme  duty  to  accomplish;  if  he  wxre 
to  die — ^the  thought  reached  him,  unaccompanied 
by  any  sense  of  terror — then,  at  least  the  dying 
would  be  worth  while.  .  .  .  He  discovered  that  he 
was  getting  nearer  to  the  train;  he  could  hear  now 
the  relentless  puffing  labor  of  the  locomotive  some- 
where just  below  him,  and  the  harsh  shriek  of  car 
wheels  rounding  a  curve.  The  thin,  quavering  note 
of  a  whistle  drifted  up  to  him.  All  at  once,  as  he 
swept  around  yet  another  bend  in  the  track,  he 
saw  the  black  horseshoe  of  the  tunnel  stamped  in 
a  sheer,  towering  wall  of  rock  directly  ahead  of 
him.  A  profusion  of  half-formed  thoughts  came 
crowding  chaotically  to  his  brain;  but  his  limbs 
seemed  powerless;  his  head  was  spinning.  How 
now, — ^how  was  this  thing  to  be  accomplished?  .  .  . 
The  swaying  car  reached  another  dip  in  the  track, 
leapt  onward  as  if  endowed  with  wings.  He  tried 
to  apply  the  brake,  but  the  fragile  lever  snapped 
off  derisively  in  his  fingers.  The  tunnel  grew ;  be- 
came a  menacing  black  maw — and  at  that  instant 
the  problem  solved  itself.     He  stood  up,  swaying. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  307 

like  a  reed  blown  in  a  hurricane;  leapt,  just  before 
the  car  shot  into  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel. 

He  struck  the  jagged  flint  of  the  roadbed  with 
a  terrific,  blinding  impact.  Flashes  of  amazing 
light  seared  across  his  vision.  He  tried  to  raise 
himself.  Of  a  sudden  the  whole  world  was  rent 
asunder  in  a  shattering,  cosmic  roar;  he  had  a 
momentary  glimpse  of  rocks  hurtling  through  the 
air;  falling  in  a  vicious  shower  upon  him — crush- 
ing him  down,  down,  into  a  gathering  oblivion; 
through  which  he  was  only  conscious  of  overwhelm- 
ing pain.  .  .  . 

Ill 

Voices  penetrated  the  void  that  enveloped  him; 
voices  that  were  miles  and  miles  away,  infinitely 
remote  from  his  presence.  ** . . .  Oh,  it  was  mined 
all  right . . .  we'd  have  been  blown  to  hell.  .  .  .'* 
"...  Carry  him  down  to  the  train.  .  .  .  Hurry, 
you  fellows !"  A  pause.  Then :  "...  Give  us 
time.  Sergeant.     The  guy's  heavy.  ..." 

The  sounds  faded  away  in  the  obliterating 
numbness  that  again  once  crept  over  him. 


CHAPTER  X 


The  door  at  the  far  end  of  the  long  whitewashed 
room  opened  and  Corporal  Flannigan  appeared, 
grinning  as  usual.  Everett  sat  up  in  bed  to  greet 
him.  Corporal  Flannigan  had  proven  a  good 
friend;  it  was  he  who  brought  him  his  meals  three 
times  a  day  upon  a  tray;  who  left  tattered  bundles 
of  American  magazines,  occasionally,  upon  his  bed. 

There  was  really  nothing  to  do  but  read,  or 
think — and  thinking  made  him  frantically  restless, 
anxious  to  be  up  and  about — so  that  the  Corporal's 
magazines  had  become  quite  precious  things. 

He  had  been  in  bed  now  for  several  weeks,  he 
surmised,  but  he  was  not  at  all  sure.  Time  had 
recently  become  an  almost  meaningless  factor  in 
his  existence.  A  period  of  blackness,  pain,  and  un- 
wieldy dreams  separated  distinctly  his  present  life 
from  his  old  life  that  had  ended  so  abruptly  at  the 
mouth  of  the  San  Jacinto  tunnel  upon  that  stifling 
morning.  The  pain  in  his  thigh  and  leg  had  sub- 
sided during  the  past  two  days,  but  the  heavy  con- 
trivance of  bandage  and  splints  was  irritating, 
confined  his  movements  to  a  minimum.     Still,  he 

308 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  309 

was  able  now  to  think  clearly,  and  that  alone  was  a 
blessed  relief.  No  longer  were  there  torturing 
nights,  voices  hovering  about  him :  "Take  this  .  .  . 
steady  now  .  .  .  there;  that's  better." 

There  had  been,  so  far,  only  two  visitors  to  his 
bedside  whom  he  could  positively  remember.  Cor- 
poral Flannigan,  freckled- faced,  snub-nosed,  with 
an  unruly  crest  of  reddish  hair;  perpetual  humor 
in  his  blue  eyes  and  mobile  mouth — a,  man  to  cheer 
any  invalid.  Then  there  was  the  doctor,  a  nervous, 
fussy  little  man  with  a  sharp,  brown  face  and 
enormous  horn-rimmed  spectacles,  who  looked 
weirdly  unbecoming  in  his  badly-creased  uniform — 
not  cut  out  for  a  soldier,  perhaps,  but  none  the  less 
an  admirable  doctor.  Once,  when  he  had  thrust  a 
spoonful  of  bitter  black  liquid  into  his  parched 
mouth,  Everett  had  spit  it  out,  flung  his  arms  in 
the  air  and  cried: 

*'0h,  for  God's  sake,  leave  my  stomach  alone  .  .  . 
it's  my  leg  that  hurts.    Can't  you  see  that?" 

Whereupon  the  doctor,  very  quietly,  had  filled 
the  spoon  again;  overcome  him  by  sheer  force  of 
his  wiry  arms  and  thrust  the  nauseous  mixture 
down  his  throat,  saying  perfectly  gently: 

"Damn  you,  you're  going  to  live  if  I  can  help 
it." 

Everett  smiled  whenever  he  thought  of  the 
doctor  after  that. 

Corporal  Flannigan  approached  his  bed;  roused 
him  from  his  reveries. 


3IO  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

"Say!"  he  whispered  importantly.  "The  Major's 
outside;  he'd  Hke  to  talk  to  you.  Think  you're 
up  to  it?" 

Everett  nodded.  Here  was  rehef  indeed  from 
the  drowsy  monotony  of  another  long  afternoon. 
He  sat  up  in  bed,  unconsciously  smoothing  his 
rumpled  hair.  A  visit  from  the  Major  promised 
many  things  for  which  he  had  been  impatiently 
waiting — news  of  the  outside  world  from  which 
he  had  been  so  completely  removed.  He  would,  he 
decided,  ask  a  number  of  questions.  .  .  .  He 
stared,  as  he  waited  for  the  Major,  distastefully  at 
his  surroundings — the  long,  low,  sparsely  furnished 
room  with  its  white  pine  floor  and  unadorned, 
whitewashed  walls.  It  had  formed  part  of  the 
Rivadavia  customs  house,  he  had  learned  from 
Flannigan,  before  the  Marines  seized  it  and  turned 
the  place  into  a  barracks.  Through  a  glassless, 
barred  aperture  in  the  wall  opposite  his  bed  he 
could  see  the  harbor,  gold-tinted  in  the  late  after- 
noon sunshine,  and  an  American  destroyer,  four- 
funnelled,  lean  and  businesslike,  riding  at  anchor 
perhaps  a  hundred  yards  from  the  jetty,  white- 
capped  figures  toiling  leisurely  upon  the  foredeck. 
Through  the  open  window,  too,  came  the  distant 
shuffle  of  many  feet  and,  now  and  then,  a 
peremptory,  commanding  bark  that  was  dear  music 
to  his  ears :  "Order  h-arms !"  The  thud  of  rifle 
butts,  dropping  as  one  movement  upon  the  cobbled 
quay.   And  presently:   "A-at  ease  .  .  .  Rest!"  .  .  . 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  311 

The  drone  of  low  voices,  speaking — thank  God — 
his  own  tongue. 

The  door  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  opened 
again,  and  a  man  entered — a  tall,  spare  man  with  a 
hawklike  face  tanned  to  a  deep  reddish  brown,  a 
predatory  nose  springing  from  between  the  deepest 
black  eyes;  a  close-clipped  mustache  that  failed  to 
conceal  a  stern,  straight  mouth.  Everett  liked  him 
instantly;  liked,  too,  his  sombre  yet  smart  uniform 
with  its  row  of  campaign  ribbons,  the  gleaming 
sharpshooter  badge  pendent  upon  the  chest,  the 
sharply-creased  campaign  hat  worn  well  forward 
over  gray  eyebrows. 

The  Major  drew  up  a  chair;  chatted  easily  for 
a  minute  or  two,  making  politely  conventional  en- 
quiries concerning  the  progress  of  his  convalescence. 
Then,  with  a  quick  movement  of  his  alert  head, 
he  flung  a  question  at  him : 

"How  was  it  that  you  were  coming  down  the 
railroad  to  Rivadavia  on  a  hand  car,  with  the 
country  in  the  midst  of  a  revolution?  Didn't  you 
know  that  you  were  taking  a  pretty  big  risk — with 
those  guerilleros  ambushed  all  over  the  place?" 

Quietly  Everett  answered: 

*T  had  heard  from  one  of  Rodriguez's  men  that 
the  San  Jacinto  tunnel  was  mined.  I  didn't  know 
whether  the  Federalists  would  warn  you — and  I 
wasn't  going  to  take  any  chances." 

"Hum,"  said  the  Major,  and  rubbed  his  chin, 
"As  it  happened,  none  of  the  Federalists  got  near 


312  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

enough  to  Rivadavia  to  warn  us.  The  whole  town 
was  in  rebel  hands,  as  you  probably  know,  when 
we  landed " 

Impulsively  he  thrust  forward  his  hand;  seized 
Everett's  in  a  short,  swift  grip. 

*'We  owe,  probably,  the  lives  of  two  companies 
to  your  action.  The  thing's  too  big  to  thank  you 
for — but  you'll  hear  more  of  it,  if  I  have  any 
say '^ 

He  coughed  nervously;  sought  abruptly  another 
subject. 

*'Mind  if  I  ask  a  few  questions?" 

"Not  at  all,  Major." 

''Well,  now — hum — you  seem  to  have  been 
pretty  thick  with  these  revolutionists.  It's  queer, 
taking  into  consideration  the  fact  that  you're  an 
American." 

Frankly  Everett  told  him  the  whole  story — 
omitting,  only,  any  reference  to  Bianca  Valdez. 
He  was  not  eloquent;  he  floundered  time  and  again 
in  his  choice  of  words;  yet,  on  the  whole,  he  was 
able  to  present  a  fairly  coherent  story  of  his  life  in 
Esperanza.  The  Major  listened  gravely,  eyeing 
him  now  and  then,  when  he  mentioned  certain  in- 
cidents, with  a  piercing  and  disconcerting  intensity. 

" — And  so,"  he  said  when  Everett  had  concluded, 
"you  quit  this  rebel  gang  when  you  found  out  who 
was  backing  them?" 

Everett  was  at  once  perplexed  at  the  question. 

"Why,  no.     I   quit  because   I   had  to — because 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  313 

they  wouldn't  allow  me  to  send  you  a  radio  about 
the  tunnel;  I  thought  I'd  made  that  clear.  I  wish 
you'd  tell  me  now  just  why  the  United  States 
smarted  this  intervention;  it's  been  puzzling  me  a 
good  deal." 

The  Major  appeared  incredulous. 

"Mean  to  say  you  don't  know?" 

Everett  shook  his  head. 

"Well!"  said  the  Major.  "That's  the  queerest 
thing  you've  told  me  yet."  He  drew  his  chair  nearer 
to  the  bed.  "Under  present  circumstances  I'm 
hardly  at  liberty  to  tell  you  all  I  know,  but  I  can 
give  you  the  gist  of  the  thing.  It  will  open  your 
eyes  to  a  new  aspect  of  your — eh — former 
companions. 

" — This  Rodriguez  man;  his  motives  in  the  be- 
ginning were  all  right — fine.  He  wanted  to  gain  a 
place  in  the  world  for  his  country;  saw  it  going  to 
the  dogs,  worse  and  worse  each  year — and  couldn't 
stand  it.  So  far,  so  good.  The  United  States 
wouldn't  think  of  butting  in  on  a  wholly  altruistic 
proposition  of  that  kind — but  here's  where  the 
trouble  came.  The  man  needed  thousands  of  dol- 
lars, perhaps  half  a  million,  to  carry  out  his  plans 
properly  in  the  modern  fashion  he'd  conceived 
them;  he  wanted  rifles,  machine  guns  of  the  latest 
type — even  an  aeroplane.  His  was  a  far-visioned 
mind,  and  he  figured  that  up-to-date  implements  of 
war  would  win  him  success  in  a  few  days  against 
the  obsolete  equipment  of  the  Esperanzan  military 


314  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

clique.  Now,  where  did  he  turn  to  get  the  money? 
First  his  personal  fortune  went " 

"And  then  there  were  subscriptions  among  his 
followers/'  Everett  interposed. 

''Right — -but  all  that  was  but  a  drop  in  the 
bucket;  I  see  that  you  hadn't  realized  that.  Well — 
where  did  he  turn  to  get  the  sum  he  needed? 
America?  No — ^that  wasn't  safe.  He  got  the 
money  from  Europe,  from  a  powerful  syndicate  of 
Central  and  Eastern  European  financiers,  backed 
up  by  their  governments.  A  man  called  Tegel  who 
has  caused  endless  trouble  in  Russia  acted  as  agent 
for  them.  They  granted  the  funds  in  return  for 
certain  concessions  to  be  given  as  soon  as  the  revo- 
lution had  succeeded.  And  those  concessions — 
Good  Lord!  The  United  States  has  since  investi- 
gated them,  because  it  heard  of  the  deal  thiough 
some  newspaper  man  down  on  the  island  here.  The 
whole  thing  amounted  to  a  practical  monopoly  of 
the  republic,  a  subsidy  of  every  industry  in  the  place; 
tobacco,  coffee,  sugar,  fruit — and  there  is  known  to 
be  some  valuable  nitrate  property,  too,  on  the 
southern  coast  that  hasn't  yet  been  exploited. 

"You  see  what  that  would  mean.  In  a  few  short 
years  Esperanza  would  practically  pass  to  the  con- 
trol of  Europeans;  it  would  be  a  colony  in  every- 
thing but  name — a  colony  not  eight  hundred  miles 
north  of  the  Canal  Zone  and  not  three  hundred 
south  of  Porto  Rico  and  the  Virgin  Isles.  In  the 
light  of  certain  events  between  the  years  of  19 14  and 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  315 

1918  that  proposition,  Mr.  Gail,  was  not  good 
enough  for  the  United  States  to  acquiesce  in. 
That's  all  there  is  to  it.  We  intervened  purely  to 
maintain   Esperanza's   independence." 

He  rose  to  leave.  Everett  lay  back  in  bed, 
speechless,  lost  in  thought. 

''Cheer  up,"  the  Major  called  back  over  his 
shoulder.  **We're  going  to  ship  you  home  in  a 
very  few  days." 

"Oh,"  said  Everett.  He  could  think  of  nothing 
else  to  say.  He  wanted  to  be  left  alone,  to  be  allowed 
to  work  these  tremendous  problems  out  for  himself. 
He  realized,  all  at  once,  his  own  laughable  unimpor- 
tance; the  futility  of  the  part  he  had  played  in  a 
gigantic  conspiracy.  They  had  used  him;  tricked 
him  too.  ...  A  growing  flame  of  resentment  was 
kindled  within  him  at  the  thought. 


II 


He  was  up  and  about  a  week  later,  aiding  his 
somewhat  shaky  progress  by  means  of  a  pair  of 
stout  sticks  Corporal  Flannigan  had  fashioned  for 
him.  His  movements  were  confined  to  the  jetty  on 
which  the  barracks  were  situated,  because  the  Major 
had  dropped  a  hint  that  it  would  not  be  wise  for 
him  to  penetrate  the  tortuous  streets  of  Rivadavia. 

''Some  of  the  more  ignorant  Valientes  have  it  in 
for  you,"  he  explained.     "They've  got  it  in  their 


3i6  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

stupid  heads  that  you  were  somehow  responsible  for 
our  intervention." 

On  hearing  this  he  reflected,  humorously,  that  he 
had  managed  at  last  to  attain  a  quite  magnificent 
importance.  The  Major  also  informed  him  that  he 
was  to  be  taken  back  to  America  on  the  destroyer 
Farragut,  which  was  due  to  sail  in  two  days;  she 
would  probably  call  at  Santa  Palma  on  her  way 
north,  he  added.  This  brought  back  to  him  forcibly 
thoughts  of  Bianca.  He  knew,  definitely,  that  he 
must  see  her  before  he  left  .  .  ,  just  why,  he 
couldn't  tell;  yet  the  urge  was  unequivocal. 

Meanwhile  the  Marines  patrolled  the  streets  of 
Rivadavia,  as  they  were  patrolling  Santa  Palma  and 
Los  Barrios,  restoring  some  semblance  of  order 
amongst  the  terrified  inhabitants,  pacing  the  sun- 
baked cobbles  with  grim  precision,  all  the  while  giv- 
ing vent  to  the  profanest  opinions  concerning  the 
Esperanzans,  and  Esperanza  in  general.  Little  or 
no  trouble  occurred  in  Rivadavia ;  the  wave  of  senti- 
ment for  Don  Jose  had  swiftly  died  down  now  that 
it  had  become  known  that  he  had  incurred  the  dis- 
pleasure of  the  United  States  by  securing  funds  from 
a  syndicate  of  foreign  capitalistas.  The  Rivada- 
vians  had  no  desire  to  lose  the  coffee  trade  they  had 
bui!t  up  with  the  United  States ;  they  were  a  people, 
as  Don  Jose  had  once  remarked,  who  knew  on  which 
side  their  bread  was  buttered.  During  the  Marine 
occupation  they  obeyed  all  orders  of  the  Comman- 
dant mechanically,  the  while  devoutly  praying  that 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  317 

the  horde  of  stern  Americanos  would  soon  clear  out 
of  the  place  and  leave  them  to  their  own  peaceful 
devices. 

There  was  a  storm  the  night  before  Everett  was 
due  to  sail;  the  sun  sank  in  a  coppery  mist  beneath 
a  billowing  horizon ;  the  sea,  churned  to  a  wild  froth, 
was  the  color  of  a  snake's  back.  Breakers  dashed 
in  impotent  rage,  again  and  again,  over  the  break- 
water of  the  harbor.  Night  came  on  with  an  appall- 
ing swiftness,  and  with  it  torrents  of  rain. 

At  nine  o'clock  he  hobbled  out  of  the  barracks, 
passed  the  sentry,  on  his  way  to  a  nearby  bodega  to 
purchase  some  cigarettes.  His  progress  along  the 
wind-swept  quay  was  difficult,  his  body  bent  to  the 
teeth  of  the  gale.  As  he  neared  the  bodega  a  figure 
crept  into  the  slanting  lamplight  of  its  windows,  al- 
most collided  with  him.  It  was  Hoya — Don  Jose's 
negro  chauffeur.  Everett  called  his  name  aloud; 
the  man  halted,  eyeing  him  with  frigid  suspicion. 

"Come  in  here,"  Everett  said,  his  hand  upon  the 
bodega  door.    "I  want — to  ask  you  a  few  questions." 

The  negro,  shivering,  followed  him  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation  into  the  lighted  warmth  of  the 
shop. 

They  selected  a  deserted  corner  of  the  room. 

''What  does  the  Seiior  want  of  me?"  Hoya  asked, 
glancing  nervously  about  him.  *T  am  on  my  way 
to  my  home  in  the  south.  I  cannot  stay  here  long; 
this  town  is  unsafe  for  one  who  has  been  in  Don 
Jose's  employ." 


3i8  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

"I  won't  detain  you  long,"  Everett  assured  him, 
thrusting  a  ten  peseta  note  into  his  hand;  the  man 
looked  hungry,  he  thought;  destitute.  "Tell  me 
now,  where  is  Don  Jose?" 

Hoya  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

''Dios,  Senor  I  cannot  say.  The  Federalists  yes- 
terday offered  a  large  price  for  his  capture — and, 
this  morning  Don  Jose  and  the  European  made  their 
escape  in  a  tiny  harca."  He  glanced  out  through 
the  streaming  windows  into  the  torrential  blackness 
of  the  night.  **If  they  reach  another  land  it  will  be 
a  miracle — but  perhaps,  after  all,  it  would  be  better. 
.  .  .  Don  Jose's  dreams  are  broken;  and  he  lived 
for  his  dreams." 

" — And  Senora  Valdez?'*  Everett  asked,  with  as 
much  casualness  as  he  could  muster. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  the  negro  eyed  him  a  trifle 
curiously  before  replying. 

"Senora  Valdez?  Let  me  think —  Ah,  I  remem- 
ber now.  She  was  wounded,  Seiior,  upon  the  very 
steps  of  her  villa  by  a  stray  bullet  from  a  cursed 
Federalists  sniper."  He  flung  his  arms  upward  in  a 
gesture  of  utter  despair.  "Oh,  Sefior,  all  happiness 
is  over.  Our  world  has  come  to  an  end.  The  fight- 
ing at  Santa  Palma  was  terrible ;  the  VaUentes  never 
held  the  town  for  a  day.  My  master  has  fled;  the 
house  has  been  taken  from  us.  Where  now  can  a 
miserable  like  myself  go  ?" 

He  began  to  whimper,  but  ceased  in  abrupt  terror 
as  Everett  gripped  his  arm. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  319 

"Tell  me,  quick — where  is  she?" 

*'I — I  think,"  he  stammered,  "she  was  taken  to  the 
Hospital  of  the  Holy  Sisters  in  Santa  Palma '* 

Everett  left  him;  made  his  way  mechanically, 
blindly,  toward  the  door  of  the  bodega.  Bianca 
wounded,  he  thought  desperately,  helpless  in  some 
dreadful  hospital — perhaps  dying.  .  .  .  Don  Jose  a 
fugitive  in  an  open  boat  upon  a  merciless  sea.  Their 
little  world  had  indeed  come  to  an  end.  A  trite  old 
phrase  of  schoolroom  days  leapt  to  his  mind,  lingered 
obdurately — sic  transit  gloria.  .  .  .  He  knew  now 
that  he  must,  at  any  cost,  get  to  Bianca. 


CHAPTER  XI 


The  United  States  destroyer  Farragut,  on  her 
way  northward,  cast  anchor  opposite  the  crumbling 
gray  walls  of  El  Morro  de  Santa  Palma  at  noon. 
Everett,  standing  impatiently  in  her  bows,  watched 
the  negligent  progress  of  the  harbor  official's  launch 
as  it  approached  across  the  glassy  stretch  of  water. 
Gazing  toward  the  clustered,  sunbaked  roofs  of 
Santa  Palma  he  was  impressed,  unpleasantly,  by  the 
heavy  sense  of  stillness  that  hung  over  the  town ;  not 
a  sound  of  human  life  reached  him  from  across  the 
bare  quarter  of  a  mile  of  water;  the  Marina  was  a 
deserted,  forlorn  expanse  of  cobblestones  and  shut- 
tered houses.  Like  a  city  plunged  in  a  trance,  he 
thought  uneasily. 

He  looked  westward  toward  the  palm-fringed 
neck  of  land  that  edged  the  harbor,  veering  seaward 
in  a  lazy  curve,  and  saw  once  more  the  square  un- 
compromising bulk  of  the  Casa  Azul,  defiant  and 
stolid  above  the  wavering  palm  tops;  he  could  see 
that  its  windows,  too,  were  shuttered.  What,  ex- 
actly, had  happened  during  his  absence  ?    He  wanted, 

320 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  321 

frantically,  to  get  ashore  and  to  find  out  a  hundred 
and  one  things — principally  to  see  Bianca.  .  .  .  His 
half-formulated  plans  were  interrupted  by  the  grat- 
ing of  the  harbor  launch  against  the  destroyer's  side, 
the  sound  of  voices,  Spanish  and  English  inter- 
mingled, querulous  ...  the  endless  red  tape  of 
Esperanzan  officialdom. 

At  the  chart  room  door  he  ran  across  the  Com- 
mander of  the  destroyer  pacing  the  deck,  frowning 
over  a  mass  of  typewritten  documents  in  his  hands. 
He  glanced  at  Everett  with  the  look  of  a  harassed 
man. 

"Sir,"  said  Everett  respectfully,  "Fd  like  to  go 
ashore — '*  he  began  to  stumble  over  his  words, 
moved  his  fingers  nervously,  " — question  of — of  a 
dear  friend.  Maybe  dying — "  He  gulped  out  the 
last  words.  The  Commander  jerked  a  thumb 
toward  the  rope  ladder  swinging  from  amidships. 

"Go  ahead — but  be  back  within  two  hours.  I 
want  to  clear  out  of  this  hell  hole  as  soon  as  I  can ; 
there's  a  rumor  of  fever " 

Gratefully  Everett  thanked  him;  clambered  down 
the  insecure  ladder  and  hailed  the  native  officer  in 
the  boat. 

"Ashore  I    Fifty  pesetas  if  you'll  get  me  there.'* 

He  knew,  by  now,  Esperanzan  cupidity;  the  gold- 
laced  pretension  of  the  man  left  him  unawed.  He 
saw  with  some  relief  that  his  offer  was  immediately 
accepted. 

As  he  went  aboard  the  launch  the  thought  that 


322  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Bianca  might  be  dying  tore  at  his  heart  like  a  tiny 
blade  scraping  a  wound  that  had  nearly  healed. 

II 

Ashore  he  came  upon  a  nightmare  of  a  town — 
sunbeaten,  parched  streets,  stinking,  deserted  but  for 
the  occasional  passing  of  a  Marine  squad,  bayoneted 
Springfields  at  the  shoulder,  marching  with  the  pre- 
cision of  automatons.  Now  and  then  he  came  across 
a  yellow  sign,  swinging  from  a  corner  lamp-post, 
warning  pedestrians  of  an  outbreak  of  the  Pest — 
urging  them  to  kill  all  rats  at  sight.  .  .  .  Patches 
of  blood  at  frequent  intervals  upon  the  pavement, 
drying  a  hideous  brown  in  the  torrid  sun ;  sometimes 
a  tattered  fragment  of  uniform,  a  broken  rifle  lying 
in  the  gutter.  Under  the  tamarinds  of  the  Plaza 
Nacional  he  stumbled  suddenly  upon  a  more  horrid 
reminder  of  recent  events — ^the  body  of  a  Federalist 
soldier,  crumpled  up,  wide-open  eyes  staring  awfully 
at  the  sky;  gaping,  leering  mouth.  ...  He  hurried 
on,  shuddering,  past  two  Marines  who  were  loading 
a  wagon  with  other  bodies.  More  pools  of  blood, 
and  thousands  of  flies  buzzing  angrily  above  the 
sidewalk  in  dense,  wavering  black  clouds. 

In  a  side  street  above  the  Plaza  he  caught  sight  of 
a  wretched  family,  furniture  piled  untidily  about 
them  on  a  two-wheeled  cart ;  a  man  with  a  bandaged 
head  ferociously  whipping  a  donkey  that  staggered 
under  its  burden.    A  girl,  white-faced  and  weeping, 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  323 

sitting  on  the  steps  of  a  deserted  house  with  a 
squalling  infant  pressed  to  her  immature  breast.  .  .  . 
All  supply  of  food  and  water  had  been  cut  off  from 
the  city;  families  were  fleeing  in  mad  haste  from 
the  barren,  plague-ridden  streets.  So  had  ended  Don 
Jose's  magnificent  adventure. 

He  came  at  last  to  the  hospital,  a  low  adobe  build- 
ing with  a  blatantly  new  roof  of  corrugated  iron,  a 
worn  fight  of  steps  leading  to  swinging  doors  of 
wire  netting.  At  the  end  of  a  dark  passage  he  dis- 
covered an  interne  washing  a  hypodermic  needle  in 
a  perfunctory  manner  beneath  a  dripping  faucet.  He 
asked  whether  he  might  see  Senora  Valdez.  The 
man  eyed  him  suspiciously  for  an  instant. 

"You  will  find  her  at  42  bis.  We  removed  her 
to  a  more  quiet  place — the  hospital  is  at  present  full 
of  soldiers.*' 

He  hurried  on,  with  growing  fear,  up  the  street, 
and  presently  reached  42  bis,  a  severely  plain  house 
of  yellow  plaster.  There  was  no  bell  at  the  door, 
but  it  bore  a  bronze  tablet  upon  its  panels : 

The  Little  Sisters  of  Mercy 

He  entered ;  groped  his  way,  stumbling,  the  length 
of  a  narrow,  unlit  passage — came  at  last  to  a  closed 
door.  Within  he  heard  voices ;  women's  voices.  His 
knock  was  answered  by  a  wrinkled  old  woman  in 
an  untidy  cotton  dress  who  looked  at  him  with  the 
peering  scrutiny  of  feeble  vision. 


324  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

"Is  Senora  Valdez  here?"  he  demanded.  "If  so, 
tell  her — tell  her  that  Mr.  Gail  would  like  to  see  her." 

The  woman's  eyes  widened  perceptibly;  she 
nodded  in  a  queer,  understanding  way  that  perplexed 
him  and  signified  that  he  was  to  enter  the  room.  He 
found  himself  in  a  dimly-lighted  chamber,  the 
jalousied  windows  of  which  permitted  only  six 
parallel  rays  of  sunshine  to  filter  uncertainly  upon  a 
tiled  floor;  there  was  a  niche  in  the  plaster  walls 
containing  a  colored  crucifix ;  some  stiff  waxen  lilies 
.  .  .  a  table  littered  with  medicine  bottles  and  a 
tumbler  or  two,  drawn  close  to  a  small  iron  bed- 
stead. The  air  was  faintly  fragrant  with  lavender. 
.  .  .  Then  he  saw  her. 

Her  eyes  were  closed,  the  lids  transparently  blue 
in  startling  contrast  to  the  pallor  of  her  face.  Her 
black  hair  in  long,  waving  tresses  framed  her  cheeks, 
tumbled  in  a  billowing  wave  over  the  white  surface 
of  the  pillow.  He  approached  the  bed.  Eyes  opened, 
slowly,  at  the  sound  of  his  footsteps;  gazed  at  him 
uncomprehendingly — then  suffused  swiftly  to  a 
liquid  radiance. 

"Everett !"  she  said,  and  raised  her  head  with  an 
infinite  effort.  He  seized  her  hand,  hot  and  dry  and 
throbbing;  held  it  despairingly.  The  old  woman 
hovered  beside  him  for  a  moment,  after  which  she 
retired  to  a  far  comer  of  the  room  to  become  ab- 
sorbed in  the  task  of  shaking  down  a  thermometer 

Everett  nodded  towards  her  back. 

"Who  is  she?" 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  325 

"An  old  servant/'  Bianca  murmured,  ".  .  .  de- 
voted. She — she  understands  about  you,  I  think, 
Everett." 

He  studied  her  in  silence  for  a  long  instant,  and 
renewed  fear  surged  into  him  at  the  tragic  frailness 
of  her.  She  seemed  to  have  become  very,  very 
young,  helpless,  unutterably  fragile. 

"You're  going  to  get  well,"  he  assured  her  con- 
ventionally, and  with  an  effort,  because  in  his  heart 
he  knew  he  was  lying. 

Her  eyes  were  ineffably  bright.  In  a  sudden  be- 
wildering little  access  of  strength  she  sat  up. 

"Perhaps — ^but  you  are  going  home,  Everett.  Oh, 
yes.  I  have  heard  the  news  from  Don  Jose."  She 
paused;  her  voice  dropped  to  an  almost  incoherent 
whisper.  "Remember,  Everett,  your  promise.  You 
are  not  to  be  unhappy  for  me.  I  have  been  very 
happy — and,  after  this,  I  must  be  only  one  of  your 
dreams."  Her  voice  trailed  away  remotely.  "Fm — 
so  tired,"  she  murmured. 

Her  head  slipped  back  to  the  pillow;  eyes  closed, 
as  if  that  valiant  effort  had  crushed  her  remaining, 
pitiful  strength.  He  felt  at  the  same  moment  a 
hand  upon  his  shoulder;  heard  a  man's  gruff  yet 
not  unkindly  voice: 

"You  must  go — my  patient  is  not  to  be  disturbed." 

In  a  sudden,  sharp  movement  the  doctor  brushed 
past  him ;  bent  low  over  the  bed  as  eyelids  fluttered 
uncertainly. 

Everett  stumbled  blindly  from  the  room.     Out- 


326  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

side  in  the  dark  passage  he  waited,  with  pounding 
heart,  for  many  agonizing  minutes.  And  then  the 
doctor  came  out  of  the  room,  closing  the  door  gently 
behind  him. 

*'It  is  all  over,'*  he  said  gently;  and,  in  an  instant 
of  supreme  understanding,  patted  Everett  clumsily 
upon  the  shoulder. 

He  found  his  way,  somehow,  into  the  glare  of  the 
street. 

A  young  Marine,  leaning  idly  against  the  wall  of 
an  adjoining  house,  was  whistling  a  popular  melody, 
his  blatant  notes  splitting  the  heated  stillness  of  the 
morning.  A  primitive,  unreasoning  rage  swept  over 
Everett.  Fists  clenched,  body  all  atremble,  he 
swayed  up  to  the  man. 

"Oh,  God— stop  that!"  he  sobbed.  "Keep  your 
damned  happiness  to  yourself.  .  .  ." 

He  fled  on  down  the  street.  The  Marine  ceased 
whistling;  stared  after  him  in  utter  amazement. 

He  was  rowed  across  the  harbor,  seeing  nothing, 
hearing  nothing.  The  native  boatman  had  to  shake 
him  to  dull  comprehension  when  they  came  along- 
side the  destroyer. 

Ill 

All  that  afternoon  he  sat  upon  the  narrow  bunk 
of  his  cabin  in  trancelike  immobility  waiting,  pray- 
ing, for  the  ship  to  take  him  away,  the  stunning 
actuality  of  Bianca's  death  obliterating  from  his 
mind  all  other  thought. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  327 

And  yet  it  was  not  until  he  was  a  considerably 
older  man,  able  to  delve  into  the  past  with  the  serene 
reasoning  of  maturity,  that  he  fully  realized  the 
extent  of  the  love  she  had  given  him,  the  exquisite- 
ness  of  her  renunciation,  her  purgatory  when — with 
that  instinctive  infallibility  of  hers — she  knew  that 
the  time  had  come  for  them  to  part.  Later,  too, 
when  the  poignant  picture  of  her  had  faded  to  a 
mellower  memory,  and  he  was  capable  of  looking 
upon  facts  with  less  of  youth's  emotion,  he  knew 
that  his  own  love  for  her  had  been  but  a  passing, 
lovely  madness,  a  lambent  flame  of  youth  leaping 
to  ecstatic  brilliance  for  brief  and  glorious 
moments.  .  .  . 

At  midnight  the  Farragut  weighed  anchor ;  glided 
out  to  sea.  He  went  on  deck;  walked  for  an  hour 
that  seemed  an  eternity,  while  the  stiff  night  breeze 
sent  a  perpetual  shower  of  crimson  sparks  dancing 
down  from  the  funnels  and,  below,  the  engines 
throbbing  like  the  heart  of  a  living  creature  urged 
the  ship  faster  and  faster  across  the  starlit  sea. 
And  as  he  walked  there  assailed  him  that  over- 
whelming desire  that  leaps  unbidding,  once  in  a 
while,  to  the  hearts  of  all  men,  wanderers  over  the 
wide  face  of  the  earth,  for  the  firelight  of  home,  for 
the  familiar  faces  of  those  who  were  his  kind,  who 
understood  him — people  whose  ideas  and  ideals  were, 
after  all,  one  and  the  same  as  his  own. 

A  naval  lieutenant,  puffing  his  pipe  musingly  at 
the  taffrail,  addressed  him  as  he  passed. 


328  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

**Those  people/*  he  drawled,  with  a  wave  of  his 
arm  toward  the  south,  "they're  cattle;  that's  all. 
No  souls,  no  minds.  The  Lord  knows  why  we  let 
'em  go  on  making  trouble  year  after  year " 

Everett  spoke  up  hotly,  in  a  torrent  of  words. 

"You're  wrong,"  he  cried,  "all  wrong.  They've 
got  souls,  and  minds;  they've  got  their  own  ambi- 
tions and  ideals,  just  as  we  have.  Perhaps  they 
think  out  things  differently;  go  about  things  in  a 
hot-headed  kind  of  way — but,  after  all,  that's  only 
temperament.  Fundamentally  we're  all  the  same. 
What  they  wanted  was  freedom,  equality,  a  happy 
country — the  right  to  live.  My  God,  I've  seen  more 
individual  bravery  in  that  dirty  little  republic  in  the 
last  four  weeks  than  I  ever  have  before " 

The  lieutenant  gaped  at  him;  tapped  his  ashes 
against  the  rail;  mumbled  a  curt  good  night  and 
strolled  away. 


CHAPTER  XII 


New  York.  An  island  of  white  towers  rising 
sheerly  into  the  gentle  blueness  of  a  March  morning. 
Everett,  standing  at  the  destroyer's  bow,  watched 
her  halting  progress  up  the  harbor  with  mingled 
satisfaction  and  impatience.  Battery  Park  glided 
by,  a  rustic  patch  of  green  oddly  out  of  place  at  the 
foot  of  gargantuan  structures  of  granite  and  steel. 
The  spring  air  was  filled  with  the  clamoring  chorus 
of  throaty  whistles;  feathers  of  smoke  fluttering  at 
funnels;  flags  of  nations  rippling  from  sterns  of 
ships.  A  grimy  municipal  ferryboat,  crowded  to  the 
rails  with  pallid,  straining  faces,  paddled  by  on  her 
prosaic  duty.  It  occurred  to  him  whimsically  that 
she  was,  in  a  way,  symbolic  of  the  orderly  existence 
to  which  he  was  returning;  that  the  Farragut,  lean 
and  swift  and  exotic  in  contrast,  was  the  means  to 
adventure.  ...  He  was,  he  realized,  quite  ready 
to  change  ships. 

At  noon  they  docked.  It  all  seemed  like  a  dream. 
He  shook  hands  mechanically  with  half  a  dozen 
officers  and  men,  and  stepped  ashore.     A  taxi  bore 

329 


330  ^BREATH  OF  LIFE 

him  perilously  through  the  blatant  squalor  that  New 
York,  most  boastful  of  cities,  flaunts  in  the  eyes  of 
hopeful  and  expectant  visitors;  under  girdered 
shadows  of  the  elevated;  past  drug  stores,  tobacco- 
nists, barber  shops;  signs  swinging  in  the  March 
breeze ;  eddies  of  dry,  choking  dust  already  whirling 
along  the  cobbled  chaos  of  the  streets.  Fifth  Ave- 
nue at  last,  broad  and  clean,  and  splendid  in  its 
precise,  orderly  way.  The  trees  fringing  Central 
Park  were  touched  with  the  earliest  hint  of  vernal 
green,  the  morning  air  suddenly  soft  and  fragrant 
with  a  smell  of  loam. 

And  then  the  house,  white  and  towering,  com- 
placent as  ever. 

Brixton  opened  the  door,  with  a  smile  that  had 
been  obviously  prepared  for  the  occasion,  but  he  had 
no  time  to  spend  with  Brixton ;  in  the  dimness  of  the 
hall,  at  the  foot  of  the  curving  marble  stairs,  he  saw 
his  mother  waiting. 

In  her  arms  he  felt,  all  at  once,  still  a  little  boy. 

II 

The  weeks  drifted  by  serenely.  He  was  conscious 
of  what  he  considered  to  be  a  change  of  attitude  in 
those  about  him.  His  parents,  in  the  first  place,  had 
greeted  his  return  with  a  simple,  unmitigated  pleas- 
ure that  he  could  not  ignore.  Then  his  father,  quiet 
and  unobtrusive  as  ever,  seemed  to  seek  his  company 
more  than  before;  spent  long  evenings  with  him  in 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  331 

the  wainscotted  library,  discussing  in  his  painstaking 
manner  many  questions  of  the  moment — politics, 
world  affairs,  business.  .  .  .  His  mother,  too, 
evinced  a  desire  to  satisfy  his  every  wish — and  yet 
there  were  few  things  that  he  wanted ;  he  was  happy, 
in  a  negative  way. 

Everyone,  in  fact,  appeared  to  be  more  tolerant — 
easier  to  get  on  with.  And  yet  it  never  occurred 
to  him  that  it  was,  perhaps,  he  who  had  changed; 
not  they.  Even  Stoddard  had  apparently  lost  some- 
thing of  his  irritating  assurance. 

Emily  had  gone  out  west  for  the  summer;  Mar- 
garet Blair,  he  learned,  was  away  in  Europe ;  would 
not  return  until  the  late  autumn. 

He  spoke  rarely  of  Esperanza,  and  then  only  in 
answer  to  questions.  But  when  he  was  alone  in  his 
room  the  experiences  of  the  past  came  crowding 
back  to  him,  and  from  the  disordered  fantasy  of 
events  that  whirled  through  his  mind  he  tried  to  de- 
rive some  coherent  conclusion.  For  the  first  time 
in  his  life  he  applied  himself  to  a  study  of  causes 
rather  than  effects. 

He  had  seen  men — honest,  simple-hearted  men — 
inspired  to  leave  their  primitive  homes  and  labors 
by  the  fiery  words  of  an  apt  coiner  of  phrases ;  he  had 
seen  their  vainglorious,  tinsel  army,  sprung  up  over- 
night, swaggering  to  battle,  egged  on  by  elementary 
ideals  to  crush  a  growing  despotism.  He  had  seen 
them,  in  their  own  surprise  at  their  prowess,  grow 
supremely  boastful,  convinced  of  their  own  invinci- 


332  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

bility.  And  then  he  had  witnessed  his  own  country, 
with  but  a  furtive  hint  of  her  latent  force,  intervene 
in  the  struggle — not  to  crush  their  pitiful  hopes,  but 
to  prevent  them  from  becoming  unwitting  cogs  in  a 
ruthless  machine. 

Human  ambition — that  was  it.  The  vanities  of 
one  man  who  could  lead  his  fellows  on  to  victory, 
or  utter  destruction,  with  a  mere  beck  of  his  finger. 
Pygmies  swept  on  to  poverty,  disease  and  death  by 
their  naive  enthusiasms.  He  was,  as  he  pondered 
over  these  things,  oppressed  by  a  sudden  sense  of  the 
futility  of  it  all.  .  .  .  During  those  weeks  he  had 
lost  something  irrevocable,  he  knew.  Some  of  the 
glamor,  the  careless  ease  of  youth  had  departed. 
Perhaps  he  had  acquired  other  things  more  precious. 
At  least  he  found  himself  able,  as  he  had  never  been 
before,  to  face  the  future  with  a  reasoning  calm. 

Ill 

The  telephone  at  his  bedside  rang  early  one  April 
morning.  He  picked  up  the  receiver  and,  after  an 
intermittent  buzzing  had  subsided,  heard  a  sharp, 
incisive  voice : 

*T  want  to  speak  to  Mr.  Everett  Gail." 

Faintly  surprised,  he  announced  his  presence. 

The  voice,  enunciating  each  word  with  admirable 
clarity,  said: 

"This  is  Wardrupp — Editor  of  The  New  York 
Sphere.     I  understand  that  you  recently  returned 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  333 

from  Esperanza,  and  that  you  have  a  pretty  clear 
idea  of  the  cause  of  the  whole  trouble  down  there. 
Am  I  right?" 

*'Well — yes,"  Everett  replied  wonderingly. 

"Good.  I  want  to  see  you  here — Park  Row — at 
ten  o'clock.  Can  you  make  it?  I  have  a  proposal 
that  may  interest  you." 

"What — "  Everett  began,  but  only  a  derisive 
click  echoed  in  his  ears. 

The  journey  downtown  in  the  subway,  and  to  the 
tenth  floor  of  a  great  building  in  a  crowded  elevator 
that  flashed  past  rooms  trembling  with  the  vibration 
of  gigantic  presses,  was  marked  by  a  sense  of  grow- 
ing elation — an  elation  caused  by  the  hope  that  he 
was,  at  last,  to  prove  himself  of  some  definite  use  to 
humanity;  that  his  services  were  really  needed.  .  .  . 
A  slender  girl  with  elaborately  coiffed  red  hair  re- 
ceived the  card  he  presented  to  her  in  a  kind  of 
antagonistic  silence;  then  took  it  to  an  inner  sanc- 
tuary that  lay  beyond  a  glass  door.  She  reappeared 
a  moment  later  and,  yawning,  raised  a  beckoning 
finger. 

Wardrupp,  an  amiable-looking  mountain  of  flesh 
overflowing  the  confines  of  a  swivel  chair,  motioned 
to  him  to  take  a  seat  and  proceeded  immediately  to 
announce  his  proposal ;  the  while  he  talked  he  jotted 
down  cabalistic  figures  upon  a  yellow  pad  marked 
CITY  EDITOR. 

"The  American  public  is  interested  in  this  Esper- 
anza  affair,    Mr.    Gail — more   than   you   probably 


334  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

believe.  The  European  complications  make  it  a 
first-rate  story.  Now,  Elbert  Wing's  report — ^the 
only  one  recently  received  from  that  part  of  the 
world — was  grabbed  by  one  of  our  competitors,  un- 
fortunately for  us.  However,  he's  only  got  half  the 
story,  to  my  mind — the  spectator's  story,  so  to  speak. 
What  we  want  is  a  series  of  articles  by  you  to  cover 
a  period  of,  say,  six  or  seven  Sundays,  giving  the 
inside  story  of  the  Esperanzan  revolution.  As  to 
terms " 

He  mentioned,  presently,  a  sum  that  surprised 
Everett  by  its  magnitude. 

''But,"  Everett  told  him,  "Fve  never  written  any- 
thing in  my  life.     At  least " 

Wardrupp  chuckled  throatily. 

"Have  a  shot  at  it.  li  you've  done  a  year's  high 
school  we'll  be  able  to  fix  it  up  for  print." 

"Why,  I've  had  two  years  at  Yale,"  Everett  began, 
on  a  rising  wave  of  egotistical  reminiscence, 
"and " 

But  Wardrupp,  seizing  the  telephone  at  his  side, 
smiled  and  gently  terminated  the  interview. 

IV 

His  series  in  The  New  York  Sphere  was,  with- 
out a  doubt,  one  of  the  few  journalistic  surprises 
of  that  season.  He  could,  it  was  discovered,  write. 
He  did  not  possess  the  creative  but,  rather,  the 
photographic  mind.  His  copy  showed  crass  errors 
in  syntax;  his  style  was  crude — but  wholly  to  the 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  335 

point.  Wardrupp,  reading  aloud  the  first  instalment 
to  the  City  Editor,  said: 

*'He's  almost  a  human  camera,  Mac.  I've  never 
seen  such  vividness  of  impression.  Eventually  we'll 
make  something  big  out  of  him." 

Syndicate  rights  for  the  series  were  disposed  of 
promptly.  By  the  middle  of  June  Everett  found 
himself  the  possessor  of  a  larger  bank  account  than 
he  had  ever  had  before  and — more  important — 
an  offer  that  indicated  a  more  or  less  definite  future. 
It  was  agreed  that  he  was  to  spend  a  year  with 
The  Sphere;  then  to  go  to  Europe  to  cover  certain 
political  conferences. 

"It's  splendid,"  his  father  said,  "that  you've 
found  this  ability.     You  ought  to  be  very  happy.*' 

"I  am,"  he  said.    "Oh— I  am." 

But  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  there  was  some- 
thing— something  vital  lacking.  .  .  . 

Summer  came.  He  worked  conscientiously, 
whole-heartedly,  at  Park  Row;  became  a  familiar 
figure  in  newspaper  circles,  and  was  regarded  as 
one  of  the  more  promising  of  the  younger  group. 
Life  seemed  to  run  on  well-oiled  wheels;  yet  there 
was — the  conviction  grew — some  essential  element 
lacking;  he  had  a  most  curious  feeling  that  if  he 
probed  deep  enough  into  the  recesses  of  his  own 
mind  that  he  would  discover  the  cause  of  this,  but 
that  he  was  not  yet  ready  to  unearth  it.  .  .  .  In 
a  mood  of  sombre  reflection  he  discovered  that 
Time,  although  it  had  not  the  power  to  obliterate 


336  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

memories  could,  at  least,  soften  these.  Facts  which 
had  once  seemed  all-embracing,  eternally  and  irre- 
vocably seared  upon  his  brain,  had  now  become 
but  a  part  of  the  blurred  pathos  of  the  past. 

One  Saturday  afternoon,  when  his  work  was 
completed  at  three  o'clock,  he  wandered  over  to 
Brooklyn  Bridge  and  took  a  train  to  Coney  Island, 
alone — a.  performance  which  considerably  upset  his 
mother  when  she  heard  of  it. 

*'He's  changing,"  she  remarked  anxiously  to 
Gail  Senior  late  that  night.  *'He  never  before  was 
able  to  amuse  himself  without  companions." 

"That's  a  sign,"  his  father  remarked  drily,  "of 
supreme  common-sense,  when  one  considers  the 
mental  calibre  of  most  of  his  friends." 

His  day  at  Coney  Island  was  prosaic  enough 
until,  just  at  sunset,  he  went  for  a  ride  on  the 
Brighton  Beach  scenic  railway.  It  so  happened 
that  he  shared  his  seat  in  the  front  car  with  a  vivid 
little  creature  in  a  jade  sweater  and  plaid  skirt, 
whose  features,  crassly  covered  though  they  were 
with  paint  and  powder,  possessed  a  certain  delicacy 
that  attracted  him,  as  did  the  sun-gold  of  her  hair 
visible  under  the  brim  of  a  jaunty  little  hat  of  black, 
soft  straw.  During  the  headlong  downward  flights 
of  the  train  she  gave  vent  to  piercing  screams  and, 
now  and  again,  clutched  his  shoulder  with  a  dimin- 
utive hand. 

As  they  glided,  with  decreasing  speed,  down  the 
homeward  stretch  he  remarked  aloud : 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  337 

"When  you  come  to  think  of  it,  life's  sort  of 
like  this.  First  it's  slow  and  sheltered — you're 
feeling  your  way  to  the  summit  of  the  first  crest, 
into  the  open — then  the  first,  terrifying  period 
comes;  the  first  test.  If  you  get  beyond  that  you 
can  usually  survive  the  rest." 

She  stared  at  him,  blue  eyes  wide  with 
amazement. 

"That's  an  idea,"  she  said  presently.  "Indeed  it 
is.  The  first  test  was  my  finish — "  she  laughed, 
a  trifle  metallically.  "You  look  like  a  nice  fellow. 
Here's  hoping  you  get  by  safe." 

They  descended  the  steps  together. 

"I'm  hungry,"  he  said.  "I'm  going  to  have 
dinner.  Show  me  a  good  restaurant,  and  we'll 
dine  together.     Crowds  always  make  me  lonely." 

She  was  obviously  pleased;  clung  to  his  arm 
as  they  hurried  along  the  seafront,  and  led  him  to 
a  blatant  open-air  dance  hall  where  a  mediocre 
meal  was  being  served  to  crowds  of  hot,  happy 
people. 

During  the  meal  she  told  him  about  herself — 
the  usual  story ;  drudgery  at  home  first ;  the  craving 
for  excitement;  the  sudden  solution  offered  by  a 
"friend"  more  persuasive  than  the  rest.  She  was 
at  present,  she  informed  him,  cashier  in  a  Montauk 
motion  picture  theatre. 

"Still,"  she  concluded,  "You  can  just  bet  I'm 
glad  I  was  born  in  an  age  when  girls  are  beginning 
to  live.    Things  are  different  than  they  used  to  be. 


338  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

I  should  worry  whether  I'm  living  exactly  the  same 
life  as  the  girl  across  the  street.  You  can't  write 
up  a  bunch  of  rules  for  everyone  these  days — and 
then  say  everyone's  damned  who  breaks  'em.  .  .  ." 

"You  mean,"  he  said,  *'that  morality's  more  a 
matter  for  individual  than  collective  thinking  than 
it  used  to  be." 

She  nodded,  approvingly. 

"You're  swell  at  putting  things  into  words." 

At  the  terminus  of  the  electric  line,  before  a  long 
string  of  lighted  cars,  she  asked  in  a  spirit  of  sub- 
missive calm : 

"Where  are  we  going  now?" 

"I'm  going  home,"  he  told  her.  "I  don't  know 
what  you're  going  to  do,  but  I'll  say  good-bye 
now — and  thanks  for  being  such  delightful  com- 
pany." 

Again  that  look  of  blank  amazement  in  her  eyes. 

"I  said  you  were  a  funny  guy,"  she  remarked 
thoughtfully,  stripping  the  wrapper  off  a  stick  of 
gum.  "I  knew  it.  But,  honest,  I've  had  the  best 
time  tonight  I've  had  in  years.  We — we  sort  of 
understand  each  other." 

She  hesitated  for  an  instant;  then  burst  out 
impulsively : 

"You're  going  to  get  success  and  happiness — 
sooner  or  later.  I  just  feel  it  in  my  bones.  There's 
some  people  Fortune  just  picks  out  for  winners 
and  stamps  her  trade-mark  on  them.  Keep  on  being 
nice — like  tonight — and  you  can't  go  far  wrong." 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  339 

She  gave  him  a  little  squeeze  of  her  hand,  and 
trotted  off  toward  the  distant  blare  of  lights  and 
music. 

Of  course  it  was  all  nonsense  but,  nevertheless, 
her  prediction,  as  well  as  touching  him,  made  him 
vaguely  happy. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
I 

Staring  into  the  gathering  blue  dusk  through  the 
frosting  windows  of  the  smoking  car,  Everett  real- 
ized that  the  train  was  at  last  approaching  its  desti- 
nation. Pine-covered  hills,  white  and  glimmering 
against  a  coppery  sunset,  marked  the  limits  of  the 
frozen  valley  through  which  the  train  was  crawling. 
The  brakeman,  ice-coated  and  flapping  his  arms, 
flung  himself  through  the  door  of  the  car,  followed 
by  a  flurry  of  snow  that  settled  on  the  floor  and 
became  a  quickly-growing  patch  of  moisture.  A 
breath  of  keen  air  swept  through  the  smoke-laden 
atmosphere,  causing  more  than  one  passenger  to 
shiver. 

"We'll  be  there  in  ten  minutes,"  Stoddard  re- 
marked, at  his  side.  'T  hope  you're  in  a  mood  for 
plenty  of  gaiety.  Mrs.  Glamorgan  knows  how  to 
give  a  house  party;  I  was  up  here  once  last  winter 
when  you  were  away.** 

Everett  nodded  almost  solemnly;  rose  to  take  his 
suitcase  and  raccoon  coat  from  the  rack.  Stoddard, 
possibly  aware  of  a  certain  lack  of  enthusiasm  in 
his  response,  said: 

340 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  341 

*'A  little  over  a  year  ago,  Evvy,  this  party  would 
have  appealed  to  you  as  the  essence  of  good 
things." 

"Maybe  it  will,  still,"  Everett  mused.  "I  don't 
really  know.  You  see,  it's  so  long  since  I've  done 
any  kind  of  celebrating.     It  depends " 

"There  may  be  attractions,"  Stoddard  ventured, 

Everett  made  no  reply. 

He  continued  softly: 

"Margaret  Blair's  going  to  be  there — only  got 
back  from  Europe  last  week.  And,  of  course,  that 
adjunct,  Hal  Jones — but  you  won't  let  him  count." 

Everett  turned  round  sharply.  His  face,  in  the 
dimness  of  the  car,  was  drawn. 

"You  knew  this  all  along ?" 

"Not  until  Will  Dawson  mentioned  it  to  me  on 
the  ferry  coming  over;  he's  back  in  the  rear  car." 

"If  I'd  known  that,"  Everett  murmured.  "If 
I'd  known  that " 

He  relapsed  into  sudden  silence.  And,  then 
slowly  at  first,  a  sense  of  growing  exultation  per- 
vaded him,  in  spite  of  his  determined  efforts  to 
remain  calm;  the  queerest,  most  ridiculous,  most 
glorious  feeling.  .  .  .  Long  before  the  train 
reached  the  station  he  found  himself  standing  upon 
the  ice-laden  platform,  bag  in  hand. 

The  train  came  to  a  halt,  eventually,  at  a  shingle 
station;  there  were  oil  lamps  gleaming  faintly 
through  the  dusk;  the  sound  of  stamping  horses;  the 
tinkle  of  sleigh  bells. 


342  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

It  was  nearly  seven  o'clock  when,  ahead  of  their 
sleigh,  the  lighted  panels  of  the  Glamorgan  home 
leapt  out  of  the  shadows  at  the  foot  of  a  white  hill. 
Mrs.  Glamorgan,  stout  and  amiable,  greeted  them 
in  the  hall.  Everett  hurried  up  to  his  room,  a  place 
of  fragile  blue  furniture,  chintz  curtains,  and 
dormer  windows.  He  proceeded  to  dress,  with 
meticulous  care,  for  dinner. 

Half  an  hour  later  a  gong  sounded  below.  He 
was,  he  realized  with  some  surprise,  suddenly  afraid 
to  leave  the  room ;  exactly  why,  he  didn't  know.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  stumbled,  unwarned,  upon  some 
crisis  for  which  he  was  wholly  unprepared. 

Half  way  down  the  winding  oaken  stairs,  at  a 
landing  dimly  lighted  by  a  cluster  of  candles,  he 
came  upon  Margaret — a  virginal  symphony  in  white 
and  gold.  She  looked  up,  startled,  and  there  was 
a  faint  catch  in  her  breath  as  she  voiced  some  con- 
ventional greeting. 

Perhaps  the  passing  months  had  heightened  her 
youthful  beauty;  made  her  even  more  desirable — 
or  perhaps  long  absence  had  crystallized  that  which 
he  had  felt,  all  along,  concerning  her.  These  were 
things  which  he  would  never  know.  He  was  only 
certain,  facing  familiar  gray-green  eyes,  hearing  the 
low,  familiar  voice,  of  the  moment's  revelation. 

"Oh,  Evvy,"  she  was  saying.  "It's  just  years  and 
years  since  Fve  seen  you " 

The  gong  summoned  them  a  second  time,  more 
insistently,  from  the  hall  below. 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  343 

II 

After  dinner  there  was  a  dance,  for  the  purpose 
of  which  rugs  had  been  rolled  aside  from  the  par- 
quet floors  of  twin  drawing  rooms;  and  a  trio  of 
Africans  resplendent  in  dinner  coats  and  starched 
bosoms,  appeared  in  a  battered  Ford,  armed  with 
saxophone  and  banjo.  Cars  came  winding  up  the 
driveway  at  frequent  intervals,  bringing  hilarious 
groups  from  the  surrounding  countryside.  It  was 
all  very  informal  and  delightful — especially  when 
Mr.  Van  Cuyler,  a  portly  bachelor  who  was  in 
the  habit  of  proclaiming  himself  unfortunate  with 
the  fair  sex  because  all  his  cooks  and  best  girls  got 
married,  kissed  the  widow  hostess  after  a  short 
struggle  under  the  mistletoe.  There  was  a  punch 
bowl  of  cut-glass  installed  in  the  dining  room,  the 
contents  of  which  was,  throughout  the  evening,  a 
subject  of  much  profound  speculation  and  experi- 
ment; it  was  never  quite  deserted.  .  .  . 

Everett,  in  the  stag-line,  looked  in  vain  for 
Margaret  and  then  learned  that  she  was  playing 
bridge,  but  was  reassured  by  his  hostess  that  she 
would  dance  later.  It  rather  startled  him  when 
she  added,  out  of  a  clear  sky : 

**0f  course  we  know  that  you  won't  be  really 
happy  till  she  comes  in." 

How  much  more  these  people  discerned  than  one 
believed ! 

He  danced  amiably  with  every  girl  in  the  room. 


344  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

It  was  pleasant,  he  concluded,  to  be  back  again 
amongst  the  old  crowd  after  all  these  months.  No 
one  had  changed.  There  was  Edith  Way,  across 
the  room,  manipulating  violet  eyes  in  the  same 
seductive  way;  giving  departing  partners  a  subtle 
pressure  of  the  hand  that  meant  ''come  back  soon" ; 
causing  havoc  among  the  more  inexperienced  of 
the  stag-line.  Ella  Cloyne,  too,  whose  avoirdupois 
rendered  her  version  of  the  latest  "toddle"  none 
too  graceful,  who  was  paraded  at  frequent  inter- 
vals before  the  stag-line  by  perspiring  youths 
seeking  relief.     Ella  never  seemed  to  mind,  though. 

Waltzes  were  played  now  and  again,  to  the 
usual  protests  of  the  younger  element  and  to  the 
delectation  of  the  hostess  and  the  rotund  bachelor, 
who  whirled  her  about  the  room  in  a  reckless 
progress  that  swept  the  more  fragile  males  and  their 
partners  to  the  very  walls. 

The  world  went  on  seeking  its  amusement  year 
after  year;  if  you  were  happy  and  amusing  your- 
self there  was  always  room  for  you.     If  not 

About  ten  o'clock  he  strolled  out  of  the  room, 
lighted  a  cigarette,  and  walked  slowly  up  and  down 
the  glass-enclosed  verandah  of  the  house.  Beyond 
the  row  of  straw-colored  curtains  drawn  tightly 
across  French  windows  dancing  figures  flitted, 
grotesquely  attenuated.  The  blare  of  the  negro  trio 
came  eddying  out  into  the  darkness,  filling  it  with  a 
s)mcopated,  vibrating  appeal.  Singing  voices,  aban- 
doned with  the  joy  of  light  and  warmth  and  music : 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  345 

...  5*0  keep  on  loo-king  for  a  blue  bird 
And  list'ning  for  his  song. 
Whenever  A- pril  showers  come  along. 

He  sat  down  and  stared  thoughtfully  out  into 
the  snowy  spaces  of  the  night.  Then,  through  a 
door  that  led  to  the  dance  rooms,  Margaret  appeared 
with  a  man  whose  face  was  obscure  in  the  dim 
half-light.     Hal  Jone's  voice  reached  his  ears. 

"What  makes  you  so  different  tonight, 
Magaret?" 

The  blasted  fool!  The  dancing  puppet!  A 
symbol  of  modernity  without  any  of  its  greatness. 
Always  present,  to  shatter  dreams;  to  break  up 
illusions.  Everett  turned  quickly  in  his  chair  to 
watch  him.  The  very  way  he  propelled  Margaret 
along  the  verandah,  one  sleek  hand  at  her  bare 
elbow,  irritated  him;  his  suave  voice,  too.  Why 
was  it  that  a  man's  conceit  was  nearly  always  in 
inverse  ratio  to  his  worth? 

They  reached  the  end  of  the  verandah,  turned 
and  came  toward  him,  conversing  in  low  tones. 
They  passed  under  a  cluster  of  lights  and,  at  that 
instant,  as  her  eyes  met  his,  all  the  misgivings  of 
his  heart  were  suddenly  swept  away;  only  his 
brain,  cool  and  calculating,  dared  not  wholly  believe. 

Mrs,  Glamorgan's  voice  came  shrilly  from  within. 

**0h,  Hal  Jones!  Come  in  a  moment,  will  you? 
I  want  you  to  help  me  arrange  these  little  supper 
favors — you're  so  clever  at  things  like  that." 


346  BREATH  OF  LIFE 

Hal  Jones  excused  himself  from  Margaret 
hurriedly;  she  did  not,  it  appeared,  want  to  return 
to  the  dance  just  yet. 

Everett  rose  from  his  chair  and  joined  her. 
They  walked  down  the  verandah,  making  polite 
conversation;  at  the  end,  gazed  down  the  marble- 
white  slope  of  a  hill  toward  a  lake  that  gleamed 
like  a  frozen  mirror  under  the  pallid  blueness  of 
the  moon. 

"We've  been  skating  all  day,"  Margaret  was 
saying;  "it  was  wonderful.  .  .  ." 

He  did  not  hear  her.  His  eyes,  roving,  had 
discovered  not  fifty  yards  from  the  door  of  the 
house  the  beginning  of  a  toboggan  slide,  near  it  a 
deserted  toboggan;  a  pile  of  fur  coats  thrown  in- 
discriminately on  a  table  beside  the  verandah  door. 
Suddenly  he  threw  a  coat  about  her  slender 
shoulders,  captured  her  hand,  and  led  her  out  into 
the  still  coldness  of  the  night. 

"Crazy!"  she  murmured,  laughing. 

"Nothing  matters  tonight,"  he  told  her,  exulting, 
"nothing  at  all!" 

In  a  spirit  of  humorous  resignation  she  allowed 
herself  to  be  tucked  in  rugs  upon  the  toboggan. 
He  leaped  on  behind;  hatless  and  elated. 

Down  the  hill  they  went.  Singing  wind;  keen 
winter  wind.  Round  white  moon  and  sapphire 
sky.  Silver  lake,  cupped  in  the  white  hills,  silent 
and  desolate  in  glacial  beauty.  Faster  and 
faster.  .  .  .      The    very    essence    of    flight,    that 


BREATH  OF  LIFE  347 

brought  your  heart  to  your  mouth  in  a  moment  of 
captured  joy.  .  .   . 

Across  the  mirrored  ice  in  the  headlong  sweep 
of  some  winged  creature.  And,  at  last,  a  halt  in 
the  still  shadows  under  bare  elms  delicately  etched 
across  the  face  of  the  moon.  A  deathless  silence, 
filled  to  the  brim  with  the  spirit  of  the  night's  pure, 
unreal  beauty. 

She  made  an  indecisive  little  movement. 

*'Don't  move — just  yet.  I've  got  something — 
to  say." 

His  voice  trembled  a  little. 

She  turned  her  head;  eyes  met  his.  Conviction 
came  to  him  then.  There  was,  he  realized  with  a 
glorious  certainty,  no  need  for  such  poor,  inade- 
quate things  as  words. 

Cool  lips  rested  on  his  in  an  ecstasy  of  content- 
ment. All  at  once  he  knew  he  had  just  discovered 
how  measureless  a  privilege  it  was  merely  to  be 
alive  and  young.  .  .  . 


THE  END 


The  Man  in  the 
Twilight 

By 
Ridgwell  CuUum 


The  setting  of  this  story  is  laid  in  the  northern 
forests,  in  a  country  the  author  knows  well. 
Its  plot  is  as  intricate  as  he  is  accustomed  to 
weave,  and  is  worked  out  among  the  toilers  in 
two  great  pulp  industries,  with  the  hero  in  one 
camp  and  the  heroine  in  the  rival  one — and  the 
figure  of  the  man  in  the  twilight  casting  a  strange 
and  weird  influence  over  the  chief  actors. 

"  It  is  vital,  highly  strung,  full  of  fire  and  vim 
and  zest.  It  is  a  go-ahead  in  fiction,  in  truth, 
with  plenty  of  hustle  in  it.  Few  recent  novels 
have  such  a  grip,  so  much  of  earnestness,  mixed 
with  that  deliciously  quaint,  startling  humor 
which  is  so  characteristic  of  American  life  and 
literature.  It  is  a  book  that  must  be  read." — 
Freeman's  Journal. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


^he  Novelist 
who  never  had 
a  *\jFailure! 


16|(JharlesRex 
ISJ  The  Odds 
AU  other  novelists,  no     14 1  The  Obstacle  Race 

matter  what  their    _rg \m    \i' 

feme,  have  slumped-       »|RosaMundl 

never.  DeiL  It  is  a     12  [TheTopof  the  World 

S'^F^S^r    nllhe  rid  Wave 

astoundingcres-   10  [The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

cendo,  from        IGreathearf 
TheWayof     ^  l^eatneart 


8 


The  Safety  Curtain 


anEagle"up 

tothisnew   7  rXhe  Hundredth  Chance 

one 


Bars  of  Iron 


The  Keeper  of  the  Door 


4  The  Swindler 


The  Rocks  of  Valpre 


The  Knave  of  Diamonds 


The  Way  of  an  Eagle 


Charles  Rex 


YB  40045 


M41886 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


